


Take This Longing

by omphalos, wesleysgirl



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 19:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 91,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4361039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphalos/pseuds/omphalos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleysgirl/pseuds/wesleysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Just take this longing from my tongue, all the lonely things my hands have done...</i><br/>Set in an AU that leaves canon about halfway through Rain of Fire. Wesley's links to Lilah led to a successful alliance against the Beast, and the threat was eliminated before things went too far. Within BtVS continuity, the story starts at roughly the same time as Lies My Parents Told Me. <b>This story was written in 2003.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Mer for beta'ing the earlier sections, and Jane Davitt for taking over so graciously.  
> The title and quoted lyrics are Leonard Cohen's. Of course.

_Many men have loved the bells you fastened to the rein..._

 

The hotel was unnaturally still.

That was Angel's first thought as he slowly regained himself. He was sitting upright against a wall, the hard surface pressed to his back like a second spine. His eyes refocused on the floor, and he blinked, trying to clear his vision of something that made it blur. His head felt funny.

Gradually, he realized that something was really wrong. He was sitting in the lobby, and there was enough light filtering in through the windows to tell him that it was probably late afternoon. But where was everyone? And what the hell was going on?

Angel's eyes rose to where his left hand rested on his knee, and there was dried blood on his fingers. His hand was already halfway to his mouth, instinctively, before he could even start to recognize what it might mean.

Stopping himself from tasting the blood -- whose was it? -- he pushed himself to his feet and called, "Wes?" There was no answer. "Cordelia?" Still nothing.

Think. What had happened? He remembered Lilah coming into the office to toast the success of their joint campaign to destroy the Beast. Remembered drinking champagne, but hell, with his metabolism he could drink *bottles* of the stuff without getting drunk enough to lose his memory. He suddenly had a flash of Fred, rage and defiance clouding her features even while his own hands closed around her throat.

Oh God. "Fred? Fred!" He was able to move then, through the lobby and into Wes' office. It was still Wes' office in his mind, even though he'd taken it back, tried to make it his own again. It wasn't okay to still have feelings for Wes, after everything he'd done. But then, he'd always had trouble letting go.

Angel's eyes scanned the room and he caught sight of one female foot, clad in a shoe that was somewhere between practical and stylish, sticking out from behind the desk. As his own feet went through the papers and books that were scattered over the floor, he was dimly aware of a faint chant in the back of his mind, one that said 'This can't be happening, this isn't real, you're dreaming, please, let this be a dream.'

He fell to his knees beside the body, already knowing that it wasn't Fred's because the hair was too short and there were too many curves, and as he turned her over, he could tell that she was dead. Cordy.

Angel gathered her up and held her to his chest, rocking slightly like he was trying to comfort her, a little moan escaping him. He didn't want to look at the way that her throat was torn out or how pale she was. He didn't want to see the dark smudge marks that his bloodied fingerprints had left on her face. She was cold.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, holding Cordelia's body. Eventually, he remembered that he'd been looking for Fred. Who might be... hurt, too. He lay Cordy down tenderly, still trying not to look at her too closely, and got up. There was more blood on his hands now, and he wiped it onto his pants before leaving the office and crossing the lobby into his own. "Fred?"

There were two bodies in his office. One of them was Lilah's, and despite their recent, reluctant truce, he couldn't summon up a hell of a lot of sorrow over her death. She was draped over a chair like a broken doll, at least two stab wounds visible on her chest. Her blouse was ripped open and a chunk had been bitten out of the side of her breast with human teeth -- he could tell by the way the skin was torn. There was severe bruising and a vamp bite wound on her throat, and absolutely no need to check for a pulse.

On the other side of the room was Lorne. He looked like he'd put up a fight, but it was obvious that, in the end, it hadn't made a difference. Angel went over closer to look; Lorne's clothes were torn and bloodied, and in one place, he could see raw flesh through the fabric. It looked like someone -- a human someone -- had taken a bite out of him. Angel reached down and tilted Lorne's head so that he could get a look at his throat, which was unmarked, but when he did, his fingers sunk into a deep depression in the demon's skull. No wondering about what had killed him then.

He didn't remember killing Lorne. For that matter, he didn't remember killing Lilah. *Or* drinking from her, although he obviously had, unless some other vampire had come into the hotel and done all of this. But he flashed back again on the sight of Fred's neck being squeezed by his own hands, and he knew he'd done this. Another flash, and this one wasn't a memory, but his sense of smell kicking in -- blood, more blood.

Feeling sick, he went back out into the lobby and called for Fred again, but there was still no answer. He ran up the staircase, and before he'd even turned the corner, he almost tripped over Gunn, who was lying crumpled up on the ground with a discarded crossbow next to him. Angel went to turn him over, even though the other man was clearly dead, only to discover that he was pinned, a short sword driven through his body and directly into the floor.

He turned away and immediately saw another body on the other side of the hallway -- Connor, lying in a dark pool soaked into the carpet. The scent of mixed blood was thick in the air. Angel sank down onto the floor beside him and tentatively touched him, praying that he would detect warmth or a heartbeat, but there was nothing. He rolled the boy toward him and winced at what he saw -- a crossbow bolt embedded deep in Connor's eye.

Shaken even more than he already had been, Angel leaned forward and just rested his head against his son's shoulder, feeling a wave of sorrow threatening to crest over him. Unshed tears burned behind his eyelids, and one ran in a rapidly cooling line down his cheek before he brushed it away with an impatient knuckle. Darla had given her life to save their son, and Angel had failed to protect him.

But he couldn't indulge; there had to be someone left alive. There had to be. "Fred!" he called again, more loudly, hearing the desperation in his own voice. "Wesley!" There was no answer, but he thought he'd heard a faint... something. Thought he could smell a faint tinge of freshly flowing blood -- new, not old.

Angel got up and kept moving.

On the floor just outside his suite, Fred's body lay sprawled. Her clothing was even more torn than Lorne's had been, rendering her half-naked. She was on her back, her legs spread, and her short skirt was hiked up. Her head was wrenched to one side in an unnatural position that spoke of her death more clearly than her utter stillness did. Neck broken. Throat torn. Her lips had dried blood on them, and her eyes were open, staring.

Angel closed his own eyes. He'd always known that this might happen; that they weren't safe with him. But seeing it was... worse than he'd ever imagined.

He heard the faint sound again, coming from inside the suite. He leapt to his feet and pushed the door open. There was a faint trail of blood across the carpet, like someone had dragged himself along the floor.

"Wesley?"

Angel found him on the bathroom floor, surrounded by a pool of blood, a formerly-white towel pressed to his side where a gaping wound continued to bleed sluggishly. It looked like he'd been trying to staunch the flow of blood, but now his hand rested limply on the tile. There was more blood, drying, around his mouth, staining the skin there.

Desperately, Angel gathered him up in much the same way he had Cordelia earlier, cradling the man against his chest, pressing the towel more firmly against the wound. "Wesley? Wes, can you hear me?"

The only response was the slightest fluttering of eyelids. Wes' heartbeat was slow, and slowing further even as he listened to it.

There was a pain where Angel's unbeating heart was. They were dead. They were all dead, and it looked like he'd been responsible for most of the carnage. He was reeling, unable to work out exactly how this had happened. All he knew was that they were all dead.

He unconsciously tightened his grip on Wesley, and Wes moaned slightly, the sound barely audible even to his vampire senses.

They weren't *all* dead. Wesley was near death; Angel listened to his agonized breathing as he tried desperately to draw air into his failing body. There was no question of being able to get him to a hospital in time; he had minutes to live at the most. He'd lost too much blood. But he wasn't dead, not yet.

If Wesley died, Angel would be all alone, alone in a way he hadn't been since Whistler found him. The soul had lost him his family, but it had gained him a replacement one, eventually, starting with Doyle and ending with Connor, and... they were dead. Wesley was all he had left, and if he sat here and watched him die and did nothing, that's what he'd be left with. Nothing. Angel's mind circled wildly. He could do it. He could. There were spells; it didn't necessarily have to be a bad thing.

He wouldn't think about what Wes would say.

Pulling Wesley closer and letting the bloodied towel fall onto the floor, Angel morphed into game face and sank his teeth into Wes' throat, drinking and trying to pretend that he didn't enjoy it on some level. He hadn't forgotten how Wesley's blood tasted; he'd never forget the hunger-sharpened image of Wes standing over him on that boat, cutting open his own forearm and feeding Angel. He'd never forget the sense of wonder and gratitude.

There wasn't a lot of blood to take; Wesley's supply was already so low. In very little time, it was done, and Angel pulled back and bit into his own wrist, holding it to Wes' mouth. "Drink, Wes. Come on." Wesley was unresponsive, and Angel felt a surge of anger that had its roots in terror. He let Wes' head loll on his thigh and grabbed onto his hair, yanking hard, forcing his bleeding wrist between Wes' lips. "*Drink,*" he said again, forcefully. "Wesley, drink!"

A long couple of seconds passed, and then he felt Wesley's mouth work, just once, and there was the faintest swallow. "Again," he ordered, and Wesley obeyed and swallowed again, and then a few more times.

It was enough. He cradled Wes more gently now, smoothing his hair back from his face with a hand that left a blood trail, listening as Wesley's heartbeat slowed to almost nothing. Angel refused to admit to himself the magnitude of what he'd just done; he just waited. Waited to Wesley to die.

When the last breath came, it was almost a relief.

***

Wesley's eyes flashed open. He focused on a dingy ceiling. Hmm, Hyperion dirty-white -- he was on a bed in the Hotel. He began to sit up, to investigate his surroundings, but his arms caught tight with a clink of metal; he was chained. His legs too. What the hell was going on? And what on earth was that intoxicating smell?

Turning his head, he quickly ascertained that he was in Angel's room, and Angel wasn't. Wesley's throat was extremely dry, and he felt particularly thirsty. This situation was really quite intolerable. He strained his muscles experimentally against the chains, but nothing gave.

Awkwardly raising his head, he looked himself over and was alarmed to find his clothing shredded and dried blood everywhere. But he felt fine -- well, so very thirsty, which could certainly be explained by major blood loss, but there was no pain, just frustration and growing anger at his captivity.

"Angel?" he called out tentatively. There was no response. Rather desperately, Wes searched his mind for the last thing he remembered. Lilah, looking glorious in her best Gucci, smiling softly at him as they drank to their success. Then... oh dear God. Dark, fractured images, nightmarish and impossible... that couldn't have happened, could it? Hell. The rage, the pain, dying...

And then Angel's voice, soothing hands, and a fierce liquid in his parched throat as he lay immobile, no longer even gasping. Angel's cool flesh against his lips... no, oh no. That bastard! That bloody bastard had turned him!

"ANGEL!" he howled, thrashing about in the chains. "You total fucking wanker! Where are you? Show yourself, you prat! How could you do this?" The obscenities spat easily from his mouth; there was no need to repress them now. God, even Lilah, with her beauty and seductive affection, hadn't been enough to turn him to the other side. But Angel, with one simple act of twisted mercy -- or was it revenge? -- had removed his ability to choose.

Wesley's pointless struggles calmed when his betrayer, his *sire*, persistently failed to materialise. He began to worry that he would be chained here forever, becoming increasingly insane with hunger; much how he imagined Angel had been while sunk under the ocean. Dear lord, let this not be about vengeance. Let Angel just be busy somewhere and coming soon to release him, perhaps with something he could drink...

Hell, he was so thirsty, or hungry really, he now realised. It was blood he craved, and the alluring smell that was taunting him like a siren song was coming from the blackened gore that painted his body. He ran his tongue over cracked lips and found that they weren't actually cracked at all, just coated in dried blood. Angel's. Wesley reached out with his tongue, straining to retrieve every dusty fragment of it.

His teeth felt exceptionally sharp as his tongue ran over them. With a little shudder of naughty delight, he realised he must be in game face, and despite everything, he grinned. So the animal features of his darkest fantasies were now his own. It felt like donning some illicit garb, like the first time he pulled on the leather trousers. He felt himself becoming aroused just from the feel of his own fangs.

Angel's blood had entered him, changing him forever; it was really rather erotic when he thought about it that way. Wesley writhed almost sensually in his chains, his cock half-hard and demanding. But tethered on his back as he was, he could gain no friction. And all the while, his brain was analysing and cataloguing the changes he perceived within himself.

There were a lot, and not just the obvious physical alterations, although they were dramatic. Wesley noticed that he was still breathing most of the time; maybe it took a while to lose the habit. His senses were significantly improved. One of his contacts was missing, and that naked eye was seeing far more clearly than the other. Also, he now understood that this room was actually dark. It was night, curtains and door closed, and no electric lighting, but Wes could see everything in the room.

His presumably enhanced hearing was merely confusing, as he found it difficult to work out just how far away the source was of the various bangs and thuds that he heard. And his new sense of smell was not something to concentrate on currently, teasing him as it did with the blood he was denied. He willed himself to stop breathing, not wanting any more irresolvable temptation.

"ANGEL!" he cried out again, using up the rest of the air in his lungs. Weren't vampire sires meant to attend to their offspring? Well no, Wesley guessed that most were like reptiles and other primitive animals, laying their infected corpses in the ground like eggs and then just forgetting about them. But family had always been important to Angel.

Yes, Angel *would* come for him, and Wesley found he was suddenly feeling rather pleased with himself. To have been made by Angel made him feel singled out and special. Valued... aroused... It felt strange to admit his lust for his friend now, as previously he wouldn't acknowledge it to himself at all. Apart from during those long, lonely nights, his mind drunk, his hand on his cock, and his thoughts becoming ever more tangled, dark and heated.

But the guilt, it seemed, was gone now. All of it, Wes abruptly realised. He could think about Connor and giggle at the ludicrousness of the whole Greek tragedy. And Wesley's father? That inner, constantly nagging voice was blissfully silent. In fact, Wes would like to have the old bastard here with him now; he'd teach that tyrant a thing or two about pain and humiliation. Free at last. It was a very satisfying feeling indeed.

He'd had no idea that evil tasted so much like liberty.

Only, of course, he wasn't at liberty. "Oh come *on*, Angel," he begged the ceiling. "Please. I'm not angry, I promise. I just want to get up, see this brave new world for myself... please?"

"Soon," said a familiar voice from the doorway. Wesley looked over at Angel, at his *sire*. Hmm, that word felt good. It made Wes feel proud and excited. He smiled.

"I thought you had forgotten about me," he said, pouting just a little.

"Not gonna happen, Wes," the big vampire replied, and he entered the room. His expression was as guarded as ever, but there seemed, perhaps, a deeper crease in his brow, and maybe a more pronounced stoop to his shoulders as if the world was heavier today. His clothes, Wes noticed, were only in a slightly better condition than his own.

Angel asked, "How are you feeling?" as if Wes had been sick.

"Good. Hungry. Good and hungry." Wesley's eyes had found the large carton in Angel's hand, and he didn't need his new sense of smell to tell him what it contained. "May I have it, please?"

"You're still so... British. You know, polite. Wasn't expecting that." Angel sat down on the edge of the bed and gazed at Wesley's face, studying, perhaps, how it appeared while ridged and fanged.

"You thought my late, unlamented soul was the only thing keeping me from vulgarity?" Wesley laughed. "Well, that's probably true, but the lack of it doesn't compel me to use bad manners. Would you like me to be rude?" He offered Angel a flirtatious look, and his sire seemed taken back momentarily.

"No," he answered with apparent honesty.

Wes made a mental note that both politeness and its opposite were tools he could use to manipulate his sire if necessary. Angel was nothing if not conservative, disliking change and seeking stability. So Wesley suspected Angel would prefer him to be as much as possible like the human he no longer was, and preferably, the human Wes had been a year or so ago, before babies, knives and pillows had changed his personality irrevocably. Wesley thought he could play that role if it would get him what he wanted, which was primarily the blood, and then freedom, and then Angel himself.

Angel removed the lid from the carton, and Wesley's head spun with a powerful need as the rich tannic smell of fresh-ish blood filled his nostrils.

"Oh Angel, please..." he begged.

A large hand was placed securely at the back of his neck and his head lifted. Angel placed the lip of the container against Wesley's mouth and tipped it slightly. The taste was indescribable and nothing like the way blood had tasted to him as a human. It was warm from the microwave, and it burned going down... no, 'burned' was the wrong word. It was more like a raw, sensual caress inside him. He felt it enter his veins, filling him with an illusion of renewed life. When the source was briefly removed, he whimpered softly and strained to reach the carton again.

"Slowly," warned Angel.

"Why?" Wes demanded, frustrated. "I don't see a need for caution here. Let me have it!" Angel looked momentarily displeased, and Wesley rolled his eyes. "Please," he added pointedly.

He was rewarded with another opportunity to drink from the polystyrene container. He tried to swallow as fast as he could before it was, inevitably, taken away again. Clearly Angel was trying to educate him about something. "What now?" Wes asked crossly, when his supposition was proved correct.

Angel put the half-empty carton down on the bedside table and lay Wesley's head back down on the pillow. "No!" Wes protested, dismayed by the actions. "Please, I'm sorry. Please... I need... Angel, *please*!"

His begging didn't result in the correct action, and anger overtook Wesley. He writhed in the chains, snarling and cursing. "You sadistic bastard! Is this why you made me? To torture me? Go rot in hell, Angel. Get fucking dusted! I hate you! I despise your weakness. You're a weak man, Angel. Champion, my arse. You're everyone's puppet, and I'm damned if I'll be yours!"

Wes stopped his rant abruptly, as he was punched with stunning force to the left temple. When he opened his eyes again, Angel was in game face directly above him. Alarmed, Wesley tried to move his own head away, but a large hand was holding either side of his face, and he was forced to remain still. Angel's significant weight was upon his body, pinning him to the bed.

Angel growled, "You'll talk to me with respect at all times."

"Fuck off," Wesley spat. He could see no need to reward the bastard with politeness if this was the way he was going to be treated.

The beating was sudden, silent, brutal, and quickly over. Fists connected, breaking bones and splitting apart flesh. Its wake left Wesley shaken with considerable pain and substantially more resentment. He was unable to stop the humiliating whimpers emerging from his throat.

Angel turned from Wesley and walked out of the room, saying nothing. He shut the door quietly behind him. His exit was as passionless and methodical as the attack had been. The open carton of blood sat, unobtainable, on the side, filling the air with its reek. Wesley tipped his head back and wailed...

An hour or so later, Wesley was still lying in the darkened room. His eyes were closed and his body was trembling. He hurt. He had broken ribs, a bruised and puffy face, his wrists and ankles were rubbed raw by the manacles, and his head ached with some kind of vampiric concussion. But the pain of all those things was negligible compared to the acid burn of hunger inside him.

He had stopped screaming obscenities and demands some time ago. It had been a pointless activity; Angel had not come, and the noise had hurt his throat and head. Wes had then wept unselfconsciously for a while, but ultimately he'd decided that soulless didn't have to mean prideless and so quieted. Now Wesley was silent because he'd accepted that, for the time being, he couldn't fight his sire directly. Angel held all the aces, court cards, and wild cards, and the best Wes could hope to do was manipulate which one was thrown at him and when.

Possibly in reward for fifteen minutes continuous silence from the new vampire, Angel chose to return. Wesley stared at him sullenly as he entered the room, but said nothing. Angel sat back down on the side of the bed, lifted Wesley's head, and started feeding him again as if there had been no break. The blood was cold now and didn't taste as exquisite this time around. Fury at his situation boiled inside Wes, but he made no objection, for fear the blood would be taken away again. And as he fed, he began to find calm.

When Angel did remove the carton from his lips, Wesley was still, and waited with forced patience until it was placed back to his mouth. There was certain symmetry about this scene to Wesley's perceptions. Previously, their positions had been reversed. Angel lying flat on the long table in the boat's hold, Wesley holding up his head, feeding him cold blood. Wes had been a far more generous supplier, of course.

Not a word was spoken by either of them until the last drop was drained from the polystyrene beaker. It hadn't been nearly enough. Disposing of the carton, Angel said, "Good, Wes. You're doing great. How do you feel?"

Wesley gave his sire a frankly incredulous look in response to such a fatuous question. But as Angel's eyes darkened, his offspring winced and tried to give the answer most likely to produce a favourable response. "Thank you for coming back. I am still rather hungry, and I would like to get up."

Angel nodded slowly. "Once I'm sure you know how to behave." He took Wesley's chin between thumb and forefinger and turned his face from side to side, apparently inspecting the damage. "You'll be hungry all the time to start with; just the way it is. You can have some more later." He pressed gentle fingers around the socket of Wesley's swollen eye.

Wes didn't resist the inspection. The touch felt soft, and he guessed he had lost his game face at some point. He didn't yet know how to control the change. Schooling his voice into meekness, he asked, "Angel, please. I'm not intending rudeness, or to be demanding, or any of the things you clearly don't want me to be, but why can't I have more blood? Surely the more I drink now, the better? Won't it make me a strong and healthy young vampire?"

"This'll teach you a different kind of strength. A kind more important than muscle."

Wesley thought about that. It was a very brutal method that Angel was employing, involving simplistic behaviourist techniques. The dog is bad; the dog gets beaten. The dog is good; he gets a bone. The dog is tested to see if he's learnt his lessons. So what was the lesson here? What variety of strength was Angel trying to imbue into him?

"Willpower? Self-control?" Wes inquired. "But I've always had plenty of those."

"Had," Angel agreed. "Now? -- not so much. You have to relearn that kinda stuff."

Wes was curious. "In the same way as, after brain damage, a person has to relearn how to walk?" Angel nodded, seeming pleased at Wesley's quick grasp of the situation. "And self-control is important because..." Wes paused, thinking it through. "Without it, a fledging doesn't last long?"

"There we go; knew you'd figure it out. Makes me happy you're still using your brain."

"Happy enough to let me sit up?" Wes asked hopefully.

"Soon," Angel said. His inspection of Wesley's face had turned into a distracted stroking of his cheek with the side of a finger. Wesley swallowed down his frustration and closed his eyes, enjoying the touch of his sire.

"Why did you do this, Angel?" he asked quietly. "I never thought you would while souled." There was no reply, and the hand on his face was removed. Worried that he'd somehow incurred further punishment, Wes opened his eyes. Angel was still there, gazing at him, and he didn't seem to be about to start another beating.

Finally, his sire said, "Couldn't let you go too."

"Too?" Wesley asked, and twitched as images he'd been trying to repress lightning-flashed through his mind. His hands around her neck, twisting, rupturing the flesh beneath, so intense was his grip. Her eyes bulging, blood vessels bursting in the skin of her perfect cheeks... "No!" he said urgently, and turned his head away. He used all the willpower Angel didn't think he had anymore to force his thoughts elsewhere.

"Not going to shelter you from what we did, Wes. We're going to clear it up together."

"Oh God..." Wes turned and looked at Angel in horror. "Is... is everyone...?"

"All gone. All of them."

Wesley considered that Angel didn't seem entirely... sane as he said that; there was something unbalanced in his voice and about his eyes. But then, Wes didn't exactly feel stable either. Shouldn't this sort of thing cease to matter to him now? He struggled to sit up, pulling the chains tight, craving contact with Angel. His sire put a gentle hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down, but the hand stayed there and it was enough. Wesley relaxed his body, but inside, his mind struggled with what he'd been told.

Everyone was dead. His mind couldn't really process that without allowing himself to analyse the memories he was denying. And he needed his intellect as the emotions alone were uncomfortable to say the least.

"I killed Lilah?" he asked plaintively. Her clothing shredded and his mouth at the side of her breast. Teeth parting flesh from her body, chewing a tough mouthful, swallowing... So much blood.

Hell, he was hungry.

Angel's voice was heavy with grief and guilt. "I think I killed most of them."

"What happened to us?" Having confronted at least the possibility that his colleagues and dear ones were all dead, the memories held a little less trauma. The horror really wasn't, well, horrible. In fact, it was rather exciting. Wesley assumed he had the demon now residing within him to thank for that. The blood-related thrills did not ease the pain of loss however.

"I don't know," Angel admitted. "We lost control of ourselves, became like animals..."

"Like after Billy's touch," Wes commented. Interesting how he could now say that name and feel nothing but intellectual curiosity about the effect the strange demonic boy had had upon him.

"Billy never controlled me," Angel pointed out.

Wes nodded, his brain trying to do what it did best and analyse the problem. "You know," he commented wryly, "I could think a lot more clearly about this if I wasn't so hungry."

The hand on his shoulder tightened menacingly, and Wesley sighed. "Angel, just tell me the rules? I've lost my soul, not my brain. I know I can't win in any struggle with you, and I have no wish to incur a further beating. Just tell me what you want from me, and I'll oblige. There's really no need for violence."

Angel snorted. "Then you're different from the last fledgling I trained."

Wesley winced inside at the word 'trained'; this was really quite humiliating. But he'd never been able to see the point in fighting the inevitable, believing in working with it instead. For now, as Angel seemed determined to play a fierce game of Master and Slave, Wes decided to act the role of the good slave, as life --unlife?-- would be more pleasant that way.

He was more than a little concerned about the older vampire's mental state. Because, Wesley now realised, both Connor and Cordelia must be dead too. Poor Angel. Noting with interest that he could still feel sympathy as well as the pain of loss, Wes said gently, "This must be so very difficult for you."

Angel gave him a very surprised look, and when he spoke, it was not an answer. "You, y'know, love her?"

"Lilah?" Her death, the loss of all of them, hadn't truly sunk in; Wesley realised this. "I care... cared for her. I will miss her."

"Never got why the two of you... what you were doing together," Angel admitted. "But it seemed like you were good for her. Wolfram and Hart tipped the balance against the Beast."

"You couldn't see why I wanted to fuck her?" Wesley asked with a little laugh. Angel cringed at Wesley's words, and Wes rolled his eyes at his sire's hypocrisy and changed his phrasing. "You didn't find her desirable?"

"She was... desirable. But you..." He shrugged and stood up.

"Are not?" Wes asked, his eyebrow raised as he tried not to feel hurt. "*She* thought I was." Lilah had allowed him to feel valued; it had been good when his conscience had let it be.

"No," Angel said, looking perplexed. "I meant you were so... Good. Y'know, with a capital 'G'?"

Ah, that was what he'd meant. "Once upon a time," Wes agreed gently.

Angel closed his eyes briefly, and for a moment, Wesley truly believed the big vampire was about to weep. But instead, he turned and walked towards the door of the bedroom. "Something I have to do," he explained. "I'll be back for you when it's done."

As the door shut behind his sire, Wesley slumped back onto the covers and pondered the future. All their friends were gone, and Wes now faced a very different world from the one he'd walked in yesterday.


	2. Chapter 2

_And everyone who wanted you, they found what they will always want again..._

 

This was harder than Angel had thought it would be. All of it. In some ways, Wesley's apparent acceptance of his new state was more difficult to deal with than the righteous anger had been. The anger had belonged to Wesley, the *real* Wesley. The acceptance seemed foreign. Wrong.

He made his way back to the basement and stood for a long time just looking at the sheet-wrapped bodies in their painfully neat line. One good thing about an old hotel was that it had a lot of old sheets -- musty sheets, sheets that had once been white, but had gone grey with time and disuse.

Nothing stayed white forever.

He knelt next to Connor and unwrapped the makeshift death shroud from around his face. The boy's eyelids were closed, his expression peaceful now that the horror beneath had been covered up. He looked pale and painfully young.

Angel cradled his son's face in his hand, his thumb brushing over the high cheekbone that reminded him so much of Darla's, and he wept.

He hadn't cried when Connor had disappeared through the portal into Quortoth in Holtz's arms, even though he'd thought he'd never see the boy again. His despair had been too deep, his rage at Wesley too great. There hadn't been room for tears. He'd been mourning what would have been.

Now Angel mourned what was gone. He cried for Darla, who hadn't wanted Connor, but who had managed, somehow, to offer her own life in sacrifice to make room for his. He cried for Connor's defiance and their shared belief that everything was black and white. He cried because Connor had died and taken with him the chance that, someday, everything would be right between them.

In the end, when the tears had faded and all that was left was the darkness, Angel sat with his hand on Connor's face, staring at it as though he could commit it to memory that way. As though he could burn it into his brain and keep Connor alive forever.

He couldn't even bring himself to look at the others again. As he'd wrapped each of them up in turn and carried them down here, he'd had thoughts that cut as sharply as a blade. How lush Cordy's body was. How much heavier Gunn had been than he'd expected. How Lilah, in the end, had bled and died just like the rest. How Fred was like a butterfly, all delicate wings, and weighing so little that it was like she might fly away.

He'd thought Lorne should have been able to see this coming, a thought that had brought a few choice curse words to mind as well; some directed at himself and some at Lorne, and that had only brought more guilt.

It was too much; too much to deal with, too many memories. He'd have to put them away for now and come back to them later, maybe, when it was less raw.

Finally, when his brain had gone so quiet that he felt nearly asleep, Angel leaned down and pressed one final kiss to his son's forehead. He wrapped the sheet around him again, very carefully, and got up.

As he walked toward the stairs, a series of images flashed through his brain.

Connor as a newborn, wailing in his arms as the rain poured down, and Holtz stood and let them walk away.

Connor as an infant, clutching his finger in a tiny fist. 'He was gonna be a south paw for sure.'

Falling asleep on the bed with Cordy, Connor a warm, wriggling reason for living between them. 'Chipmunk robots on ice.'

Another tear tracked its way down Angel's face.

Connor appearing in the lobby of the hotel, teenaged and scruffy, a tightly wound spring ready to uncoil. 'Hi, Dad.'

Fighting off that gang of vamps in the bar. 'The kid was born for it.'

Connor's face as he tightened the screws on Angel's coffin and closed the lid.

Pausing with his foot on the bottom step, Angel said, "Never forget that I'm your father, and that I love you." His voice cracked on the last words.

Angel made his way up the stairs. He wasn't sure how Wes was going to react to to being forced to look at the bodies of his friends, but he'd need to get through it, whether he liked it or not. The only way Wesley would be able to move on would be if he accepted what they -- what *he* -- had done, and the only way to do that was to see the evidence with his own eyes.

Angel paused outside the door to his room to deliberately calm himself before going in. He needed to set an example for Wes, but he also needed to be matter of fact in case Wesley fell apart. He clenched his fists so hard that he could feel the tension up into his shoulders and then relaxed them and opened the door.

Wesley was where he'd left him, obviously; Angel was no novice as far as restraints went, and he knew the strength of a fledgling vampire well enough. He noted the bruises and small cuts on Wesley's face as he went closer.

"Told you I'd be back for you," he said, wincing at the sound of his own voice, hoarse with tears. He took the keys to the manacle locks from his pants' pocket and moved to the foot of the bed. He unlocked one ankle and then the other.

"Where are we going?" Wesley asked, watching Angel carefully.

Angel wasn't sure he was ready to put it into words. "You'll see when we get there." He sat on the side of the bed next to Wes and reached for the younger vamp's far wrist, rubbing it gently, but not unlocking it, not yet. "Before I let you loose, I want to make sure you understand the situation."

Wesley nodded. "You want me to tell you I won't run off? That I won't fight you? I may be different, Angel, but I'm not stupid. I know you're stronger than I am. How many times would you like me to repeat it?"

"I'll *always* be stronger than you," Angel emphasized. The sight of Wes still shackled, coupled with his own sense of control, caused a flare of arousal low in Angel's belly. Arousal that he quickly repressed. He repeated, "Always. And if you do anything that pisses me off, I'm gonna shorten your leash. You keep me happy; things between us will be okay."

Wesley's eyes reflected a hint of insolence that Angel didn't like, but he only nodded again. "I understand."

He found it interesting that Wes was a slightly better liar now than he had been, but not really surprising. "Okay, then." He unlocked Wes' wrists and stood up, watching as Wesley got slowly to his feet. The new vamp moved carefully, as if he was sore from his earlier beating, but also experimenting with his new strength. Angel wondered how long this stage would last for him. Would he learn more quickly than others had? Or would it take Wes longer because of the way he analyzed and overanalyzed everything?

"Come on. Let's go." Angel turned and started for the door without waiting for a response, expecting Wesley to follow him without question.

"What are we... oh. You want me to see the bodies." Wesley was behind him, sticking close, as if he knew Angel would want him to be.

He should have known that Wes would figure it out. Hell, he probably reeked of death at this point, and Wes' new vamp sense of smell would be in hyperdrive during these early days. "Yeah," Angel said shortly.

"That should be... interesting," Wes offered, in a tone of voice that was so intellectually curious that it made Angel want to turn around and punch him in the face. He had to remind himself that Wesley was still adjusting to the change, and that he probably didn't mean it the way it sounded. He had to remind himself that Wes didn't have a soul.

Angel didn't have to remind himself that all of these things were his responsibility. He'd make Wesley tow the line when it was needed, but there were going to be times when he needed to cut him some slack too.

He continued to walk in silence, through the lobby and then down the stairs into the basement.

"Why are they...?" Wesley cut himself off as they neared the bottom of the steps. "Angel, why down here?"

Angel waited to answer the question until he'd stopped walking, Wes like a shadow at his elbow. "Privacy. Last thing we need's someone walking in and finding a bunch of bodies in the office. Plus we're going to have to dispose of them at some point; not like I'm going to carry them out the front door."

"Ah. Of course."

Angel didn't like his condescending tone. "Just remember who's in charge here, Wesley. You question me, I'm not gonna hesitate to beat that tendency out of you. However many times it takes."

Wesley nodded. "I know." His expression indicated that he believed what he was being told.

Angel stepped to one side and gestured at the line of bodies. "I want you to uncover their faces and look at them. It's harder to accept if you don't see it."

He watched as Wesley walked slowly over and got down on his knees. Wes glanced up at him and then slowly peeled the first sheet back, exposing Fred's pale face. There were still bits of dried blood on her lips but her eyes were closed. Angel kept his own gaze on Wesley, watching the emotions cross his face one after another, almost faster than Angel could interpret them: Disbelief, sorrow, confusion, a flash of anger.

Wesley continued to stare at Fred, keeping his hands well away from her, like he was afraid to touch her directly.

"Wes? Tell me how it feels, knowing you might have been the one who killed her."

Wes' eyes were blank when he looked up at Angel. "What?"

"You heard me."

"You actually expect me to..." Wesley trailed off, unmoving, his eyes on the body again.

Angel wasn't sure if Wes was in shock or denial, but he knew he had to snap him out of it and fast. There wasn't time for this crap. Get in, get out, get it over with. He went over and pulled Wesley to his feet, his hands gentle now, turning Wes' face to look at him. "Wesley. I'm not doing this to fuck with you; it's important. You need to accept it."

"I didn't know it would be like this."

His patience, already worn thin, snapped, and Angel tightened his grip. "Well, it is. This is what it's like, Wes. Pretending it's not happening isn't going to get you anywhere."

"Fine." Wesley's eyes flashed angrily, and he wrenched himself from Angel's grasp. "It feels... I don't want to be the one who killed her," he said. "I cared for her."

"What if you *were* the one who killed her?" Angel pressed him. "What if it was you?"

Wes glanced at him. "Are you saying it was?"

"Are you this pig-headed about *everything?* I'm not testifying in court, I'm asking you a question. And I expect an answer."

"I don't want to have killed her," Wesley said quickly, as if the words were spilling out of him. He turned away from Angel. "But I don't feel as if I can really bring myself to care a great deal if I did. The thought of draining her is... immensely satisfying, in a way I can't even put words to. If she were standing in front of me right now, helpless and... I might do it again. There," Wesley said, turning back toward him, fists clenched at his sides. "Are you satisfied now?"

"I'll be satisfied when the job's done," Angel told him. "You're just getting started." He made a sweeping gesture that included the rest of the bodies in the line.

"This is all your fault, you know," Wes said bitterly, as he covered Fred's face again and then knelt beside the next body.

Only slightly irritated, Angel narrowed his eyes. "How do you figure that?"

Wesley unfolded the sheet and looked at Cordy's face. "I salvaged you from the bottom of the sea so that things would be over between us. We were even. You were the one who kept dragging me back. You were the one who came to me, wanting to know about Cordelia."

Angel snorted. "And who showed up at *my* hotel after she disappeared again? I'm pretty sure that was you, Wesley."

"I was trying to *protect* her," Wesley protested, but already it sounded like his anger was fading. "I knew you didn't know where she'd run off to. I was trying to help."

"And I'm not arguing with you about that. I'm saying you dragged yourself back to the fold just as many times as I came to you for help."

"Tell me how they died," Wes said, without looking up, and except for how impassive he was in the face of this horror, he sounded more like himself than he had since he'd woken.

Angel shifted his weight. "Fred was... someone... well. Her neck was broken and she was drained. Guess you can cross her off your list of people to feel guilty about."

"I don't. Feel guilty," Wesley said, and then an expression of surprise crossed his face as if he was only realizing then that it was true. He covered Cordelia again and moved on. "But if we're going to draw some conclusions about what actually happened, we'll need to catalogue the details. Collect data."

"Well, the details say I killed Fred. Cordy too." Angel watched Wesley as he removed the sheet that covered Lilah's face and throat, not wanting to look at the body himself. "And I..." He paused, and then forced himself to continue, "snacked on Lilah."

Wesley closed his eyes at the sight of his girlfriend -- or whatever the hell Lilah had been to him, since there'd been times Angel hadn't been sure -- and nodded. "But I'm the one who killed her."

Somehow, it was reassuring to think that maybe Wesley felt remorse about her death, or about his involvement in it. "If you remember doing it, then yeah, my guess is it was you. It's not just her throat, though; she was stabbed a couple of times."

Lilah was almost as white as the sheet that surrounded her, the bruising and dried blood on her throat dark in the dim light. Wesley brushed her hair back from her face with fingers that might have been shaking, whether in horror or deliberately suppressed excitement, Angel couldn't tell. "I remember strangling her. She was still alive when I did it. I could feel her flesh rupturing beneath my fingers, and it was... exhilarating." Wes looked up at Angel, perplexed. "That's what I don't understand. All of this happened before you turned me. Why did I do it?"

"That's what we're going to figure out. And keep your fingers out of your mouth - this isn't a buffet."

Wesley blinked and looked down at his hand. "Right. Sorry. I'm... still rather hungry." Turning his attention back to the job at hand, he examined Lilah's throat carefully and then recovered her face. His expression was sober, but still interested. "All right. You're certain that you were the one who killed Cordelia and Fred?"

He was so matter of fact about it. Angel reminded himself again that it wasn't Wesley's fault that he didn't have a soul. "Yeah."

"And what about the others?" Wesley waved a hand at him as if to say 'never mind' and moved on to the next body impassively. He unwrapped Lorne and started to look him over.

"He's all torn up," Angel offered. "Bitten... up. Not vamp bites, though. And his, um... skull's smashed in."

"I see." Wes' fingers moved through Lorne's hair, finding the sunken area that Angel had discovered earlier. "I remember biting Lilah. Do you think I was the one who...?"

"Could be. But some of the others -- Fred, at least -- had blood around their mouths. I thought it looked more like a group effort."

"Then it wasn't just you and I who caused all of this. Some of the others were affected, as well." Wesley moved on to Gunn's body.

Angel nodded. "He was, at least. A crossbow bolt killed Connor, and the crossbow was lying right next to Gunn."

There was an expression that Angel couldn't quite figure on Wesley's face. Not finding any injuries on Gunn's face or throat, Wes unwrapped more of the sheet and discovered the large puncture wound through Gunn's torso.

"All right. So we've two killed by vampire, one by strangulation, one by severe head injury, and one by massive blood loss due to stab wound. At least three or four of us definitely affected by... whatever it was. Some sort of malicious force, perhaps."

"Once we figure out who -- or what -- did this, we'll go after it. Forget all the shit you've heard about revenge being a dish best served cold; soon as we have something to go on, it's taken care of."

Wesley's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Now that sounds like something I'd like you to teach me."

"Count on it."

Wes covered Gunn back up and turned to the last body.

"*Don't*," Angel said harshly.

Wes glanced up in surprise. "I thought you wanted me to - "

"No. Not Connor." Angel could lead by example -- he could hold it together in front of Wesley, show him how to do it -- but not if he had to see his son's face again. That part of his life was over. He wouldn't, couldn't, go back.

"But Angel, how can I formulate a theory about what occurred without having all of the details at my disposal?"

"We can talk about it later," Angel said, closing his eyes.

There was a long pause with no response from Wesley, and when Angel opened his eyes and looked at him again, he knew something was wrong.

"What?"

Wesley swallowed heavily and stood up. "Nothing."

He was lying; Angel could practically smell it on him. "I know when you're telling me the truth, Wes. And I can tell when you're lying."

"And do you know when I've been sleeping, and when I'm awake?" Wes asked, with a tinge of hysteria locked behind the artificial calm in his voice. "I'm fine, Angel. Leave it."

Angel moved quickly, before Wes could react, grabbing him by the throat. He squeezed, hard enough to hurt Wesley, knowing that a new vampire would react to the threat of strangulation instinctively, his body unable to remember that it didn't need to breathe. "Tell me."

"It's nothing," Wesley repeated stubbornly, although Angel could smell the tinge of fear emanating from him.

"Tell me." Angel's voice didn't allow for disobedience.

Wes met his eyes defiantly for the briefest of seconds, and then dropped his gaze. "I didn't realize how difficult this would be," he said slowly. "What would it be like if I had a soul?"

Angel loosened his grip. "Harder," he admitted, and then told the truth in a way that he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to again. "You should be glad you don't have one. For now." He let go of Wesley and turned toward the staircase, starting up it without waiting to see if Wes was following.

***

"Time to clean up."

Angel was taking Wesley slowly back upstairs to his room, their lonely little wake apparently over. Wes felt suitably dead inside. He had... *loved* those people; all of them, in one way or another. And now they were gone, taken by a mysterious killer who seemed, somehow, to have used them all as its weapon.

During the conversation by the bodies, Wesley had sneaked a look at under Connor's shroud while Angel's eyes had been closed. The boy's face, sullen somehow even in death, had provoked a powerful flash of memory.

Whiteness blanked his mind. How much was from the pain of the sword wound in his gut and how much was the rage that compelled him to raise the crossbow, Wesley couldn't tell and didn't care. This boy had ruined his life, stripping it of all he valued, and it was time for revenge. A point blank shot into the left eye, and even then the mutant child had the strength to twist the sword one more time before he dropped into the spreading pool of Wesley's blood.

So Connor's death, as well as Lilah's, was his doing. It was fitting; he had to admit it. Fate proving, yet again, that it had a sense of humour.

When the memory had hit, Angel had known there was something wrong with Wes, but he had eventually accepted Wesley's artful lie and diversionary tactic. It was clear that Angel intended to keep Wes close, and Wesley felt that successful escape in the short term was unlikely, if indeed he wanted to. But if Angel discovered who had killed his son, so making a farce of that stupid bloody prophecy, Wes thought he would soon be dust.

As it was, he had in a way replaced Connor, becoming Angel's new son. It wasn't the same, obviously, but Wes had the advantage of being *all* Angel now had. The only piece of flotsam and jetsam that the Angel could salvage. And hadn't a part of Wesley always wanted this? For it to be just Angel and him, all other distractions removed?

But try as he might, he couldn't feel joyful about the deaths of his friends. Despite the way they had discarded him after the kidnapping, Wesley had still cared, fool that he was. He would miss them. And Lilah, who had never discarded him, and who had treated him, in fact, surprisingly well. She, he would possibly miss the most, because she would have found the changes in him exciting.

The others would have been offended, disgusted even, by his vampiric incarnation. But Lilah... well, she'd loved to be bitten, and she would have known how to take care of herself to make sure he didn't take things too far. Together, they could have ruled the damn world.

Wesley sighed heavily, and Angel paused outside the door to his suite and turned to look at him, apparently concerned. Wesley shrugged and gave his sire a ruefully helpless look.

"We'll find out what happened," Angel promised him, clasping a strong hand to Wesley's shoulder and meeting his gaze. "If it was some kind of attack, we'll make sure whoever it was pays the price in blood. Trust me."

Wesley did trust Angel, in this respect at least. He knew revenge would be had, and he anticipated it with bloodthirsty relish, but it wouldn't bring back the past. Perhaps that was a good thing however. He also had died, and by rights his body should be lying in a shroud of dirty sheets beside the others. The man he once was had gone, and after vengeance had been taken, a completely new existence awaited.

He smiled slightly at Angel. "I shall look forward to it."

He was rewarded with an approving smile from his sire, and his shoulder was patted before the hand withdrew. Wes found himself forcibly reminded of the bulldog and his son in the old Tom and Jerry cartoons. There was an unspoken 'That's my boy.'

Once behind the closed door of the suite, Angel instructed, "Take off your clothes," and proceeded to strip himself with a pragmatic matter-of-factness. Wesley raised an eyebrow and watched with interest until a warning growl from Angel hastened his own disrobing. He dropped the blood-stiff clothing into the bin, as there seemed very little point in keeping it.

This wasn't the first time Wes had seen Angel naked, and on the previous occasion, Angel had been erect as well as bare. Wes smiled smugly at the memory of Angel lying on top him, the impressively hard cock pushing into his lower belly and the thick hand around his throat. Of course, the arousal had been for Darla and not for Wesley, but that hadn't stopped the man Wes had been then from indulging in guilty masturbation, using the initially frightening event as his own personal pornography.

Angel grabbed his arm painfully and pulled him towards the bathroom. "Maybe we should make this shower a cold one," he said, deadpan, and Wes realised that he'd grown hard with his thoughts and in his naked proximity to his sire. He smiled; he wasn't ashamed.

Within the bathroom, Wes was momentarily off-put by the sight of himself in the mirror, or rather the lack of it. Curious, and more than a little disturbed, he reached out and touched the glass. It was as if he didn't really exist anymore. Wes rubbed at the scar on his neck. His transformation had not lost him the brands of his past, and yet, in a way, all that he once was had gone.

"You get used to it," Angel told him, and Wes jumped, realising Angel was just behind him. He looked down, not wanting to see his lack of reflective substance anymore. The pattern of the flooring caused some odd sensations to shock through him. He turned to stare at his sire.

"Did I...? Was it in here that you...?"

Angel nodded. "I cleaned up after..." They both seemed to be having problems finishing their sentences.

Angel went to the shower and fiddled with the controls, swearing quietly as the water emerged contrary to his tastes. Wesley stood behind, his arms folded, and his admiring gaze moving up and down the muscles of Angel's back and the taut, sculpted arse. It was good to be able to stare openly like this, without embarrassment and guilt. Yet again, Wes was struck by how exhilaratingly free he felt.

His cock bobbed happily, and Wesley saw no reason not to reach down and begin to stroke it. Angel, having finally adjusted the shower controls to his satisfaction, turned and looked from Wesley's face down to his hand with mounting exasperation. He smacked Wesley's hand away from his body, and Wes cried out, stepping backwards, as the blow provoked a stinging pain within his swollen member.

"You're not six years old. Self-control, remember?" Angel's bad-tempered rebuke was lessened in Wesley's mind by the fact that Angel's own shaft was suddenly half-hard. He grinned slyly.

"Sorry," he said, completely without sincerity.

Angel grasped his shoulder and pushed him towards the tub. "Get in," he ordered coldly. "Wash yourself off."

Wesley stepped under the spray, which was shockingly hot as opposed to cold, and looked down with a smile as the water at his feet turned pink. Angel stood close beside him and immediately began to scrub at himself with a handful of shower gel and a flannel. Wes watched with lascivious delight as soapy bubbles began to slide down the heavily muscled body.

Angel cuffed him. Hard. "Don't just stand there."

Wiping his now bloodied lip on the back of his hand, Wesley gave his sire a reproachful look and helped himself to some shower gel. Starting with his hair, he began to systematically cleanse his body of the blood of his friends and lover. He noted, intrigued, that his injuries from the earlier beating were already starting to fade. This new life had a wonderful transience to it. He had no reflection and would gain no more scars; nothing seemed to matter much anymore.

At one point, he paused in his activity to glance at Angel, and he was amused to notice that his sire was now watching *him* wash, a fixed expression on his face. After that, Wesley's movements became a lot more sensual.

Clean to his own satisfaction, Wesley found himself pressed against the cold tiles as Angel checked him over without a word. "Apparently, I *am* a six year old," he said dryly, as Angel dragged fingers through his wet hair, checking for... what?

"I don't want to smell them on you," Angel explained, and Wes grimaced at the thought.

It seemed he passed muster, however, as Angel backed off, nodding with grim approval. Wes felt distinctly disappointed. His cock, which had softened during the washing process, had instantly begun to harden again with Angel pressed so close, who was hardly flaccid either. "I could help you with that," Wes offered, indicating the region of his interest with a nod of his head.

Angel scowled. "Where the hell is this coming from? This isn't you."

"Bollocks," Wes replied succinctly. Knowing what he now did about the vampiric sense of smell, he realised there was no possible way that Angel hadn't known how attracted Wes had always been to him. Angel had undoubtedly understood better than Wesley himself, considering the denial he'd schooled himself in.

Or perhaps Angel meant to object to his new found sexual forwardness. Of course, Wes was meant to be playing the meek and mild version of himself, wasn't he? He sighed.

"I could pretend to still have inhibitions if it would please you. I *want* to please you." He met Angel's gaze briefly and was surprised by the intensity he saw in the overshadowed eyes. Suddenly, he found himself pressed back against the tiles again, but this time, hard lips were crushing his own, Angel's muscular bulk pinning him. It felt really quite wonderful.

Wesley moaned and squirmed against Angel, who in turn growled low in his throat. Angel thrust his tongue hard between Wesley's teeth, holding him with one hand behind his neck and another pressed to his chest. Their wet bodies slid over each other as both automatically began to rotate their hips, Wes exalting in the feel of Angel's cock hardening against him.

Reminding himself that he didn't need to gasp for air, Wesley concentrated on the feel of the kiss he had craved for so long. It wasn't a pretty affair; teeth clashed against teeth or split the flesh pressed against them. Long strings of saliva were washed away by the torrent of the shower, as their mouths parted briefly, allowing Angel to search Wesley's gaze for something before returning to his lips.

Wesley's hands, uncertain at first, now stroked in long, confident motions down the length of Angel's back, enjoying the undulations of the other vampire's frame. Made brave by increasingly strong lust, Wes moved one hand further down to grasp a hard and rocking buttock. He dug his fingers into the muscle, and Angel groaned into his mouth.

Bodies rearranged themselves, the hand on his chest moving downward. It wrapped around Wesley's cock, squeezing hard, and he cried out, arching his body forward and tipping his head back. Angel's head dipped, and blunt teeth nibbled painfully around the scar while the grip on Wesley's cock moved in rapid jerks.

"Christ!" Wesley exclaimed, his balls already tightening, and he thrust powerfully into Angel's hand.

But then the hand was gone.

And the biting mouth and pressing body, even the spray of the shower, were all gone too. Angel was standing out on the bathroom floor, towelling himself off.

"You bastard!" Wesley panted, outraged at his treatment.

Angel glowered at him. "Respect, Wes," he reminded.

"Fuck you," Wesley replied, and found himself being hauled from the tub and thrown hard against the bathroom wall. A towel hit him in the chest.

"Dry yourself off."

He did what he was told, but he was furiously unhappy. "What the hell was that *lesson* about then?" he demanded to know.

"You tell me."

"I've no idea, so it was clearly very poorly taught."

"When you figure it out, maybe you'll know the right thing to say." Angel hung up his towel and walked out into the bedroom.

Wes leant back on the wall he'd been thrown against and fought back sobs. Angel really was the most infuriating, uncommunicative, pig-headed, and desirable man he'd ever known. Being in his sire's control like this was simultaneously deeply exciting and utterly aggravating. He rubbed his hands fiercely over his face and tried to calm down, attempting to apply his brain to the problem he'd been given to solve.

What was the lesson Angel was so ineptly attempting to teach him?

That Angel was in control? But Wes already knew that. Or did he really? Wesley tried to put himself in Angel's skin, with a soulless and probably annoyingly intelligent fledgling to train. It was a situation much like when he'd first captured Justine.

The first thing a dominant sire would have to do would be to ensure the young vampire accepted, without question, the reality of the sire's authority. And there it was. Wesley was still questioning, still protesting, still demanding; the training had barely begun.

In some ways, Wes felt he was adapting to the realities of his new subordination rather quickly. He'd gone in one day from being an independent figure in the AI circle and definitely his own boss, to a subservient dependent with no say over his own actions or condition. Agreed, his acceptance of this 'fact' was little more than lip service to keep Angel happy. But if he wanted Angel happy and was prepared to keep on with the act, did it effectively matter that the submission was only skin deep?

Wes had worked hard over his years in LA to build a sense of independence and a personal authority, and now he was expected to throw it all away just because he'd had the misfortune to still be alive when Angel found him? He was glad he wasn't dead. Glad he wasn't one of those pale, clammy bodies he'd said goodbye to earlier. And he was definitely enjoying all this close contact with the vampire he'd covertly desired for so long. It was just that being sired, it seemed, was like being press-ganged. All the choices of his existence were no longer his to make. He was a child again, with an equally repressive father.

Yet Wes wasn't sure that he would run away even if he could. Angel was all his now; he didn't want to waste the opportunity. He just wished it was a little less... frustrating. Not fighting the current remained the sensible course of action however, until Wes could work out either an escape plan or a way to manipulate Angel into a more palatable form of relationship.

He walked out into the bedroom where Angel was now fully dressed and stripping the bed of dirty linen. "I'm sorry," Wes said, trying to sound as sincere as possible. "Thank you for the attention you have shown me."

"There're some clothes on the bureau," Angel said, without looking around, but his voice held some warmth.

Encouraged that he was at least approaching the ballpark of 'the right thing to say', Wes pulled on the clothing left out for him. Angel's, obviously, and too big, but the shirt and pants seemed carefully chosen to not look too ridiculous on his more slender frame. He tightened the belt at his waist and pulled the shirt over it. He'd do.

Angel stretched out on the clean sheets. "Come lie down with me," he instructed softly. Wes lay down on his back beside the other vampire, carefully not touching him, and Angel rolled onto his side so that he could observe him. "You look better cleaned up. Pale, but..."

Wes turned his face to give Angel an ironic smile. "I am what you made me, even down to the clothes."

"Even this?" Angel asked, stroking a single finger over the neck scar.

"In a way, yes." He made himself not flinch at the contact. What did the scar matter now anyway? His crimes had died with Connor, providing Angel never discovered the truth about his son's death. "In an important way."

"I made you, Wes. Maybe I had a hand in creating the human you were, maybe not. But I made the vamp you are now, and that makes you mine. Understand?"

"I think so. I like being yours, so long as I'm valued."

"That's the catch," Angel said, and his hand spread flat over Wesley's throat, not hurting, just... owning. "Mine to keep, or mine to toss out like yesterday's trash. Nothing you can do either way. I need to you to get that."

"I do," Wes said, but the idea of being discarded hurt, and he rolled over, turning his back on Angel.

The hand from his throat now stroked his upper arm. "I'm not going to get rid of you," Angel reassured. "Not unless you really get out of control. Didn't sire someone for the first time in more than a century only to dust them when I get bored."

So Angel really would dust him. Of course he would. It wasn't like Wesley really mattered; it was just that everyone else had gone. The nightmare day was catching up to Wes; he was hungry, lonely and scared. Rolling back to face his sire, he looked into the dark eyes and said, "I know I have no soul now, and that the souled are accustomed to thinking of the soulless as having no right to consideration, but I am still a feeling thing. I still care. I still hurt."

"I know that." Angel replied simply. He sighed and pulled Wes to him, and Wesley relaxed as much as he could into the embrace, needing the comfort, but angry at himself for feeling like the child Angel seemed determined to treat him as. Angel told him, "I'm gonna look after you. Keep you safe. And you're gonna learn how to be a vamp, but you're gonna follow my rules."

The rules he still wouldn't tell Wes, somehow believing it better for the new vampire to work them out by himself. "If I were souled, would you still be controlling me like this?"

"Of course not."

"So the domination is to fill the gap left by my soul?"

"Could put it that way. And when we get your soul back, it'll stop."

"Oh." Wesley paused, annoyed at not anticipating this. "You're planning on asking Willow?"

Angel snorted softly and mussed Wesley's hair in an irritating way. "You didn't think I'd leave you like this, did you?"

Moving his head back, Wes answered crossly, "I had no idea." He frowned. "Angel, I cannot imagine that I'll ever forgive you for doing this. When souled again, I mean."

The big vampire frowned also. "You'll forgive me. You don't have anyone else."

Wesley knew that once Angel had made up his mind that something was going to happen, it was very difficult to convince him otherwise. But he also knew that his old souled self would have much rather died than become what Angel had made him. Of course, Angel was right about having nowhere else to go. Hadn't Wesley stayed in LA even after they'd all turned on him?

"Neither do you," he pointed out.

Angel nodded, agreeing sadly. "That wouldn't keep me from dusting you if I had to. I'd do it."

Wesley looked down. "I know. I don't want to be dusted."

"Wes, stop worrying about it. You're family now. You'd have to have done something unforgivable before I went that far. Won't let that happen. I'm gonna do everything I can to keep your conscience clean, so when we get your soul back, you don't have anything to hate yourself for."

Wesley remembered very clearly being told that Angel would never forgive him, and why. He ran an unhappy finger over Angel's shirt. "I want to be what you want me to be. You don't make it easy."

"I want you to understand the rules, not just blindly obey them."

Wes looked up and met a stern but kindly gaze from his sire. "You're setting me up for failure," he accused.

"Maybe at first. But you'll learn better for it."

"You're worse than he was." Wesley's lightly stroking fingers dug angrily into Angel's chest, and his hand was caught in a strong grip and removed.

"Who?" Angel asked, clearly perplexed.

Wesley decided to ignore the question. "So you went through this process with all of your previous offspring?"

"The rules weren't always the same, but yeah."

Angel had released Wesley's hand, and so he tentatively returned it to the older vampire's chest. "Who was the last one?"

"Spike. He wasn't mine, but Dru wasn't capable of training anyone."

"And he still hates you now, more than a century later."

Angel's tone was calm. "Spike hates me because I'm not Angelus anymore."

This wasn't the first time Wesley had considered Angelus and his activities. He saw no reason now not to ask if his theories were true. "Did you bugger him, as part of the training?"

Angel looked taken back, but he answered simply. "Yeah."

Wes looked down again, nuzzling his face into his sire's chest. "Will you bugger me?" he asked very softly.

"Do you want me to?"

"Will I get a choice?"

"I want to hear your answer."

Angel's hand was cupping the back of Wesley's neck, making slight massaging movements. "Yes, I'd like you to," Wes admitted quietly, still looking down.

"Be good then, and wait for your reward."


	3. Chapter 3

_Your beauty lost to you yourself, just as it was lost to them..._

 

"I wouldn't mind a little taste of that reward now." Wesley moved his lower body suggestively against Angel's.

Amused, Angel took Wesley's head between his hands, his fingers slipping through hair still damp from the shower they'd taken together, and he kissed him. It should have felt strange, but instead it felt right; Wes was his now. He'd offered Wes a potential reward of sex if he kept up the good behavior, but even though it was tempting, now wasn't the right time for a number of reasons.

Reaching down, Angel slapped Wesley's ass smartly. "That's all you get. Now get up; we've got work to do."

Wesley got to his feet sullenly. "If that's all I've got to look forward to, you're going to find it rather hard to motivate me."

Angel let a little growl slip free, just a small warning, but he could tell from the way Wesley straightened up that he'd gotten the message. "For now, you need to worry about doing what I tell you. *I'll* decide when you've earned a reward."

"So you'll want me researching then," Wes said as they headed out into the hallway and down the stairs.

"Yeah. You got a problem with that?"

"No, not at all."

"Good. Because one of the things it's important to learn to do is play to your strengths. You're good at researching, Wesley. That won't have changed."

Wes turned to give him a small grin. "I take it your strength was brute force then? Before you were turned, I mean?"

"One of them. I was pretty good at getting drunk too." Angel offered him half a smile in return, feeling them slipping back into the camaraderie they'd had a year ago and had recently started to regain.

They entered the office, and Wesley headed immediately for the bookshelf on the far wall, pulling down two books. He tucked one under his arm and flipped the other open, leafing through as he walked over toward the desk. "I have a few ideas," he said absently, as if he were talking to himself and not Angel.

"Yeah, me too." Angel went to the filing cabinet and pulled Billy Blim's file. They hadn't been able to identify the source of Billy's power, but Angel thought that refreshing his memory of everything that'd happened couldn't hurt. He opened the file and looked through it, glancing at the notes written in Wes' exact handwriting. He turned to the next page, a loose-leaf piece of notebook paper on which Cordelia had scribbled her own memories of the visions she'd had. He remembered how her hand had trembled, her knuckles white as she'd held the pen Wesley had gotten her.

His eyes closed against the memory.

"Angel?" Wesley sounded tentative.

He opened his eyes again. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Next in the file was a manilla envelope. It was closed, but not sealed, and when Angel opened and tilted it, a sheaf of photos slid out into his hand. These were the ones that Wesley had bought from a source -- the police photos of one of the crime scenes. The elderly woman had been beaten to within an inch of her life and then taken the rest of the way with some kind of knife or box-cutter -- really damned sharp, whatever it'd been. Angel knew what a dull blade versus a sharp one looked like on human skin. The sight of her lower torso covered with slashes was graphic enough, but seeing the blood on her hands and face reminded him of Fred and how she'd...

Angel slapped the file closed and dropped it onto the desk. "Whoever's responsible for this - " He shook his head.

Wesley looked up at him from his chair behind the desk. "We'll find them," he said, his eyes hard and glittering in a way that told Angel just how much he wanted revenge. "We'll take care of it."

"*Why?*" Angel asked him. "Why would someone want to do this?"

"That's what we're going to discover," Wesley said. "There could be any variety of reasons. Revenge, evil trying to take out some of the opposing side's members... for all we know, it could be something as simple as bad luck, that we were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Bad luck?" Angel felt like he was just repeating Wesley. "This is more than bad luck, this is..."

"I know," Wesley said, and his voice was gentle, but as he continued, it grew fiercer, echoing Angel's own inner desire to exact revenge. "But as you said before, we'll go after whoever did this. We'll find them, Angel."

"Yeah." He felt restless.

"Can I ask...?" Wesley hesitated.

"What?"

"Well... do you remember anything about what happened? Any detail, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, might provide an important clue." Wesley gestured at the book in front of him. "It could point me in the right direction as far as the research goes."

Angel nodded. "Makes sense." He tried to sort the little bits and pieces of memory into something that could help. "I remember Fred. She seemed... angry. Crazy. I... I remember strangling her, and I... I think I broke her neck. It's all foggy, you know?" It was like flashes from a nightmare: sketchy, quick, skewed.

Wesley was scribbling some notes onto a piece of paper. "Yes," he said. "My own memories are rather disjointed to say the least. Is there more?"

He could remember something else about Fred, but it wasn't anything he could stand to think about. "I killed Cordelia," he said quickly. "I drained her, but otherwise... well, she was okay."

"If one could call being completely devoid of blood 'okay,'" Wesley said, kind of absently, like he wasn't aware of what he was saying. He blinked and then looked up at Angel. "I mean - "

"Yeah," Angel said, cutting him off. The last thing he wanted was an explanation from Wes about his lack of appropriate human reaction. He *knew* where that reaction had gone. "Other than that, it's just... I can remember feeling this uncontrollable rage. Like it wanted to swallow me whole."

Wesley finished writing his notes. "I know," he said.

Angel was feeling pretty much at the end of his rope. He needed to get the hell out of there, and now, before... well, before something happened. He couldn't have said what that would be. He just knew he needed to move.

He eyed Wesley thoughtfully. Wes had gone back to reading the open page of the book he was holding. It seemed like he was holding it together pretty well -- calm, researching like he'd been asked to. He seemed just as bent on puzzling out what had happened and then taking care of whoever was responsible as Angel himself was.

"I'm gonna go out and get some more blood," Angel told Wesley. "We're running low, and you're gonna need it. You okay here for a while?"

Wesley raised his eyes from the page as if he could barely tear his attention away, and met Angel's gaze. "Yes. Should I just continue on then?"

Angel liked the deferential tone and rewarded Wesley with a small grin. "Yeah. I won't be gone long." He thought about telling Wes not to go anywhere in the meantime, but told himself that Wesley was deep in research mode. Probably wouldn't be able to pry him away from that book with a crowbar.

"All right," Wesley said, his eyes already back on the book again, not even looking up.

Angel glanced around the room one last time -- not sure what he was looking for, maybe just trying to make things feel more normal -- and said, "Okay. I'll be back soon."

Out on the street, he felt better. Fresh air, moving, something... This felt normal, or close enough that it didn't make any difference.

As he walked, Angel listened to the sound of his own footsteps. The moon was just past new and the occasional streetlamp played havoc with his vision, but he knew the area well enough that he could have walked it blindfolded. He'd travelled this route hundreds of times, at the very least -- sometimes just walking without purpose, other times, like tonight, going to pick up blood -- and it was as familiar to him as stuff got.

Now that he had some time alone to think, and could set aside the memory of his dead friends in his mind just as neatly as he'd set aside their bodies in the basement, he thought about what he'd done today. Not the killing, because he'd be regretting that for the rest of his existence, but Wesley. Even as Angel had been doing it, he'd known in the back of his mind that it was almost definitely a mistake. He'd ignored that little voice and instead concentrated on the good things that could come out of the siring; Wesley as a vampire, sure, but Wesley as a vampire with a soul. A Wesley who hadn't been allowed to kill, who wouldn't be hampered in his attempts to do good by the shackling guilt that resulted from more than a hundred years of torture and murder.

Angel didn't like to think about it, but there were times when he missed his vampire family, dysfunctional as it had been. The humans he'd come to care about couldn't take its place, if only because it never escaped his mind for more than a moment that their lives were going to be so damned short. Could be cut short at any moment, just like Doyle's had been. No warning, just... gone.

Wesley as a vampire could be his forever. The solitude of being not only a lone vampire, but also the only vampire with a soul, could be over.

The mistake that had been made in turning Wesley, if it had been a mistake, was Angel's. It was his job to make sure Wesley didn't make any. His job to make sure Wesley didn't have anything to regret. Anything *else* to regret.

It was strange how Wesley-like Wes was while soulless; he reminded Angel of the Wes of yesteryear, before... before Holtz and Justine. It made Angel warm to his charge, thinking of him fondly. It made him look forward to the promised closer contact with eagerness.

He turned down an alleyway and kept walking, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched.

The real question, the one that Wes had already asked, was how Wesley would feel about him once the soul was back in place. It wasn't a question Angel was sure he wanted to know the answer to. Would Wesley be furious? Probably, and not without good reason. Would he reject Angel? Seemed pretty likely. Would Angel be able to convince him to forgive him?

Maybe *that* was the real question.

There was enough of a past between them, a past that already included fury and rejection. But forgiveness was there too, and Angel couldn't help but hope that they'd be able to find their way there again.

When Wesley got the soul back, he'd resent the training; there probably wasn't much question about that. Angel told himself, not for the first time, that it was necessary. If he wanted to keep Wesley from doing something he'd regret, he needed to keep him on a short leash. A very short leash. Spike had been the same way, and Wesley was leaps and bounds smarter. Which meant that Wes needed to be controlled all the more because Angel knew he wouldn't be able to out-think the new vampire if he gave Wes enough time to strategize.

Angel went down a flight of cement steps, to a doorway just below the surface of the street, and pressed the button next to the door twice.

He waited.

After about a minute, he heard the sound of six deadbolts turning, and then the handle turning. Angel had never seen the inside of Larry's... whatever it was -- Apartment? Office? -- but by now he knew the exact number of locks Larry had. The heavy metal door creaked open. There were four chains crossing the space on the other side, and half a face eyed him suspiciously.

"It's me. Angel."

"You're early," Larry said, the suspicion as easy to hear in his voice as it was to see on his face. "You're not due for another day at least."

"Yeah, I know. I... ran into some trouble."

Larry just stood there, like he was waiting for Angel to say something else.

"I've got a houseguest," Angel explained finally. "I'm going to need to double up on my regular order."

Another long look, and then Larry nodded. "Hang on," he said, and then closed the door in Angel's face and relocked the deadbolts. At least some things didn't change.

Angel waited, mostly patiently, while Larry went to wherever he stored the blood. He'd gotten Larry's name and address from someone in the back room at one of the local supermarkets. He didn't know Larry's last name, and he didn't know his phone number, and he knew not to come until after dark. This was all there was to it -- ring the bell twice and hand over the money.

Larry charged top dollar, but it was easier this way, and Angel had learned that there were times when convenience was more important than saving a few bucks. He preferred the darkness -- the brightly lit supermarket had always made him uncomfortable, although he still went there in a pinch, and Larry knew what he was. It was... nice, not to have to try to avoid suspicion.

A panel in the center of the door slid back, and a hand stuck through the hole, palm up. Angel put the wad of cash he'd brought into the hand and it disappeared again, and then a paper bag was unceremoniously shoved through the hole.

"Thanks," Angel said as he took the bag, but as always the panel was slid shut without another word.

With the crumpled paper bag full of containers of blood tucked under his arm, Angel walked back the same route he'd come. It was one he used deliberately because it was unlikely he'd come across anyone. It was a walk of silence, or as close to silence as you could get in L.A., especially if you were a vampire and it wasn't late enough for people with no common sense to be safe in their beds.

He tried not to let himself sink down into the pain that was beckoning to him like a diseased lover; not because he didn't deserve to suffer, but because he needed to stay focused for now. Focused on getting Wesley through this until they could get his soul back, and focused on finding whoever -- or whatever -- had caused the madness and making them pay.

Angel crossed the street and went through the doorway into the lobby of the Hyperion, pausing briefly at the lingering scent of spilt human blood in the air. Focus.

Wes would probably be hungry again; a new vampire's metabolism was a powerful thing, and Angel could remember months when it seemed he'd never been sated. He went down the stairs and through the lobby, opening the paper bag as he went and taking out one of the containers.

"Hey, Wes," he said, as he entered the office. "I'm back with the - "

The office was empty.

"Wes?" Angel called, loudly enough that he knew Wesley would be able to hear him. There was no answer.

Angel set the blood down on top of the nearest bookcase and, moving quickly, searched the parts of the hotel that Wes might have had reason to visit, knowing that he was probably wasting time, but not wanting to admit to himself what he already knew.

Wesley was gone.

***

Wesley was big-eyed and feeling like a child at Christmas, wandering through the crowded evening streets of Korea-town and smelling the rich pungency of human life. There were so many heartbeats and so many potential screams. So much squalid, frantic, beautiful life for him to play with the idea of consuming. It was like trying to choose a single truffle from a Chocolatier's luxury display.

Should he take that pretty young lad arguing with an older man on the pavement? Or perhaps that old woman with the broken teeth and wise eyes? Every one of these souls seemed exquisite to Wesley, beautiful consumables to be selected carefully and then savoured.

His new senses presented him with a bewildering and tantalising smorgasbord of impressions. Everything seemed that much more real today, as if the world he had walked in before tonight were just a faded carbon copy of his new environment. There was a previously unknown depth and vividness, and the weavings of light, sound and scent were orchestrated in a natural chaos that stimulated him wildly and drove him onward.

Yet despite the giddiness of being out, Wes was sensible enough to realise that he couldn't just pick a victim at random and take the person where they stood. Mass panic would occur and any one of these people could prove to be adept with a stake and ready to use it. And anyway, causing public hysteria by killing openly might well be something Angel would consider 'unforgivable'. As it was, Angel would undoubtedly become very expressive if he got back to the hotel before Wesley.

He had to be quick about this.

Wes wasn't at all sure why he hadn't taken the time to find his keys after Angel left, and then driven the SUV away from his brutal sire forever. As it was, Angel had gone out, and Wesley was halfway down the road, striding determinedly, before he'd even made the conscious decision to defy his instructions and step out for a bite to eat.

Angel was wrong to keep all this wonderful life from him. This -- the thriving human herd, the hunt, the separation and kill -- was his birthright as a young vampire and what compelled him forward. It wasn't that he wanted to confound and disappoint Angel, but Wesley thought he could no more defy his nature than, as a human, he could have stopped breathing and lived.

So he would locate his prey, lure it somewhere quiet, and then feed upon its life. The thought excited Wes no end. He'd spent so many pointless years struggling to fight the good fight with no reward beyond increasing scarification -- physical and emotional. Not one of these people gave a damn about anything Wesley had done for them, what he'd suffered on their behalf, and it felt good to no longer care about their well-being in turn. It was a relief.

Always alone, always on the outside looking into the feast, Wes had never really felt like part of the human race. Yet he had striven almost ceaselessly to guard the society that excluded him. But no longer. Now he was a sheepdog-turned-wolf, and he'd rip out the throats of the flock he'd once protected. He would get hard on their screams.

Moving out of the bustle of Korea-town, Wes found himself in a familiar locale -- a place he'd once frequented as a human, in the days before Virginia. He wondered if the club was still there and headed straight to the address he remembered. His hunger was now overwhelming the feelings of excitement and arousal, which came from simply being out, and it gave him a sense of urgency. The fear of Angel was also growing. Wes needed to get a move on.

Muted modern music spilled out into the street from the basement bar, inviting Wesley to come inside and choose from a refined selection. He slipped down the stairs, smiled at the bouncer, and having been let in, walked over to the crowded bar where he realised he had no money.

Wes smiled shyly at a heavyset man in leather and denim sitting on a barstool. He was immediately rewarded with a leering grin and a gestured invitation to sit on the empty stool beside the man, who asked, "Drink?"

"Thank you," Wesley said warmly. "A whisky would be good."

"What's your name?" the leather-clad man asked as Wesley's shot was served by the sallow barman.

"Does it matter?" Wes smiled, lowering his eyes provocatively.

"I like to have a name," his new friend insisted. "Doesn't have to be yours."

"Wes then. What's yours?"

"Charles." Something inside Wesley winced at the name he'd been given, but he swallowed down the pain and smiled again at 'Charles'.

"I'm afraid I don't have too much time."

The larger man grimaced. "That's a goddamn shame. Just a quickie then?"

"I'm afraid so. I agree it's a shame. With someone like you, I'd rather..." he let his voice trail off into suggestion.

Charles' hand found its way to Wesley's knee, and Wes moaned, almost inaudibly, as the enticing blood inside the man seemed to be suddenly much closer. The human said, "I'll meet you in there," and stepped from his stool, heading for the men's room.

After a short delay, during which Wesley finished his drink, he followed Charles and found him in an open cubicle. Other couples were already engaged behind closed doors; Wes could hear and smell them. Indeed, the scent of sex in this room was far more virulent than that of human effluent, a fact he was extremely grateful for.

Charles wasted no time, pinning Wesley to the cubicle wall and shoving the door shut. He kissed Wes with rough lips surrounded by stubble. Wes let himself be kissed and manhandled, unconcerned about where the human's hands were wandering. He was listening to the increasing heartbeat and feeling the blood pound heavily through the veins of his prey.

"Oh Charles, you're delicious," he whispered, as the kiss broke, and he moved his head down to nuzzle at the man's thick neck. Wesley's cock was hardening more from the proximity of major arteries than from the hand roughly rubbing over the front of his trousers. He bit with human teeth over the man's carotid, perceiving, with what seemed to be a new sense, the mad torrent of blood deep within the flesh.

Charles moaned quietly and murmured, "Sweet mouth you have there, Wes. Gonna let me come in it?"

Wesley laughed softly. "I have to warn you; I'm in the mood to swallow."

The human groaned with more abandon and began to fumble with his own belt. Wes was tempted to let this game continue and maybe acquire an orgasm as well as blood, but his hunger was immense, and he could deny it no longer.

He willed his fangs to grow and felt his face change. Opening his mouth wide over the throbbing pulse in Charles' neck, Wes teased himself with the inevitability of the bite, letting his teeth rest on the surface of the skin. Charles had his own cock out and was trying to persuade Wes to hold it, but instead, Wesley had one hand on the back of the human's head and the other loosely encircling the man's neck, the heel of his palm resting on Charles' collar bone.

Wes tightened his grip.

As Charles made a protesting noise and raised a hand to attempt to loosen Wesley's, Wes moved his mouth a little and then bit down hard, almost coming with the sensual rush of parting flesh followed by a surge of hot blood into his mouth. Charles stiffened and tried to cry out, but Wesley's grip around his throat was now cutting off the man's air supply. The human began to thrash about, hitting out wildly with his arms and legs, but Wesley held him firmly and continued to drink.

So far Wes was feasting from lesser blood vessels, having consciously decided that the explosive flow from the carotid, and to a lesser extent, the jugular, would potentially cause far too much incriminating mess. This was enough, however. He'd had no idea how amazing human blood, fresh from the vein, could taste, and he wondered vaguely how Angel could have denied himself this experience for so long.

As the blood entered Wesley's body, it was as if someone had lit a pyre within him. He felt heated, even down to his fingers and toes. His cock was granite hard, and he turned himself and Charles, so that Wes was pushing the increasingly subdued victim into the wall. Wes loosened his grip just a little, not wanting Charles to pass out prematurely as the scent of fear was deeply arousing, and he ground himself against the human.

Even the noise of his own sucking was turning him on.

Suddenly, there was a splintering noise, and Wes was yanked sideways by the collar and thrown heavily against the sinks outside the cubicles. He fell to the floor and looked up into the furious face of Angel, who was holding a stake in his hand and clearly ready to use it. Oh dear Lord.

"Stay down," he spat at Wesley, and then turned to examine Charles who was collapsed in a whimpering heap in the cubicle.

Wes could hardly believe it, but it seemed certain he was dust if he stayed. Angel's expression, and hard grip upon the stake, had frozen the blood-heat from Wesley's body. He was back to being the terrified child locked in the darkness; he had to try to escape. As Angel helped the dazed and deeply shocked Charles back to his feet, Wes shot up like a runner from starting blocks and bolted for the bar.

He ran for the door, shoving the bouncer carelessly aside, and sprinted for Korea-town in the hope that Angel would lose Wesley's scent in the throng of people there. In retrospect, Wes wasn't completely convinced that Angel's intentions had been murderous, as why had he not just done it? But the stake had been in his sire's hand, and so if Wes had said or done the wrong thing, Angel was clearly prepared to use it.

Wes was pretty sure that running away would count as 'the wrong thing' to Angel.

It was hopeless, Wesley realised, as he charged through the busy streets. Angel had tracked him to the bar with apparent ease, and so there was no way he could escape his furious sire on foot. The SUV -- he had to get back to it. He increased his speed still further as he changed direction.

But Wesley hadn't even made it out of Korea-town when Angel caught him.


	4. Chapter 4

_Your body like a searchlight; my poverty revealed..._

 

"Stay down!" Angel could hear the fury in his own voice.

Fear scents had spiked in the men's room when he'd ripped the stall door from its hinges and dragged Wes out, but Angel ignored them and helped Wesley's bleeding victim to his feet. He checked to make sure the trembling man wasn't in any immediate danger, doing his best to prevent both his anger, and the unexpected jealousy he felt, from showing on his face and scaring the human further. The guy was unable to do more than whimper, but he seemed okay otherwise. Wesley hadn't taken enough to really hurt him.

A blur of movement caught his eye, and Angel turned to see that his wayward charge was gone.

Again.

With a snarl of raw frustration, Angel sprang into pursuit. He got slowed down by a crowd of people in the bar, and by the time he'd gotten outside, there was no sign of Wes, although the scent was fresh and easy enough to follow. Cursing aloud, he began to track Wesley's trail again, this time into Korea-town. After everything that had happened today, all the appalling loss and horror, this was the last fucking straw, and Angel could feel his camel's back breaking.

Angel had found Wes originally through a combination of a clever guess and his superior senses. He'd stood in the empty hotel and tried to calm his anger and fear so he could think. Where the hell would the bastard have gone? Wesley was smart; he'd know to go where there were plenty of people to pick and choose from, and he'd know not to take anyone right out in the open. The SUV had still been parked on the street, and the Hyperion wasn't far from an area of clubs and bars. Angel had decided to look there first. And that was when he'd abandoned the thinking.

The pull of the hunt was strong. He'd felt it as he'd chased after Wes to the bar, and Angel felt it again now, tracking his prey's scent through the confusing muddle of Korea-town. It surged through him like a living thing, howling in his veins with comfortable familiarity, urging him to pounce, rend, break and bite... making him hungry.

When he'd found Wesley's scent the first time, Angel had just dusted another vamp, who'd been stupid enough to be feeding where Angel couldn't allow himself to ignore her. It had felt good to see the look on her face as it powdered away in front of him. Her victim had seemed more scared of Angel than he had of the vamp just dusted, and he ran screaming. Angel had laughed a little before he'd caught himself.

Still holding the stake in his hand, Angel had tracked Wes to the bar. He'd let some of the anger raging inside him show on his face, and the bouncer had recoiled in fear, letting him pass without comment.

Angel had single-mindedly followed the trail, pushing through the throngs of people, to the men's room, where *his* Wesley had been in the middle of drinking from some poor human fuck who'd had his poor human dick out. Waves of possessive outrage had caught Angel by surprise, and he'd had to struggle with his already diminished self-control. Surely the real issue here was not that Wesley was with another man, but that he was in the process of making a mistake that would have been Angel's as much as his own?

Fucking stupid -- that's what this was. Angel had been stupid to leave Wes alone. Stupid to have let himself be lulled into believing that this Wesley was still the same man that he'd known -- just because he looked the same and sounded the same and even fucking *smelled* the same. He'd been stupid to trust Wes just because he'd wanted to.

And continuing with the fucking stupid theme, Wes had run again.

This time, Angel caught up with his prey outside a gift shop on the edge of Korea-town. He grabbed Wes by the collar and thrust him unceremoniously into an alley.

"God *damn* it, boy, you're smarter than this!" Angel let his actions express his rage. He held Wesley up with one hand around his throat and hit the fledgling once, twice, and then a third time, smacking his face from side to side.

Despite the blows, despite the arousing fear that Angel could smell so strongly, the look on Wes' face was one of defiance. "I was *hungry,*" he spat out, with a spray of blood from his torn lip. "You can't expect me to sit and wait to be fed like a lap dog."

"Shut the *fuck* up! If you can't show me some respect, then you keep your mouth closed." Angel shoved Wesley up against the nearest wall and punched him in the face again, hard enough that he felt the satisfying crunch as Wes' cheekbone cracked under the force. "You ran off on me, Wes. Not just once, but twice. And after I told you not to." He punched his charge again, feeling skin split on his knuckles from the force of his blow.

Pausing, Angel tried to calm himself. At least a part of him knew he was in dangerous territory here. Memories of violent encounters filled his head, instructing his hands to deal carnage. But this was Wesley, or what was left of him. Wesley, who Angel wanted to save. Leaning in, Angel licked their co-mingled blood from Wesley's face, savouring the rich salt tang that was so much better than fucking pig's blood.

"It tastes better from you," he commented, as a surge of arousal flowed through him.

Wesley didn't respond and gazed at him with a look of sheer hatred. That look hurt, and Angel didn't want to acknowledge that it did. The fury he'd briefly held in check welled up again and spilled over, game face slipping easily into place. He threw Wes across the alleyway and bent to pick up a piece of metal pipe that was lying on the ground.

"Fine," he said, stalking to Wesley's side. "You don't want to stay with me, I'll give you a little reminder." He swung the pipe like a baseball bat, connecting solidly with Wesley' knee. Wes howled and rolled sideways away from him, clutching the wounded leg.

Angel snarled, "That oughta keep you from running off again." He dropped the pipe with a metallic clank.

"You're insane, Angel. Your loss, *our* loss, has driven you mad." Wes accused him through sobs of pain. "Where's your vaunted soul now?" Wesley's hand twitched in the direction of the pipe, as if he was going to try to pick it up himself.

Angel felt his guts twist with outrage and took a step forward, stomping down with his boot on Wesley's hand. The shriek that rent the air infuriated Angel further, even as he felt a twinge of guilt. He pushed the lesser emotion aside in favor of the hot, demanding anger, and he again told Wesley, "Shut *up.*"

It felt so goddamned *satisfying,* letting his anger out on the demon wearing Wesley's face, especially when Angel knew the punishment was deserved. All the horror of the past day charged his fists, and the pain within him eased as the blows fell down like a tumbling building on top of Wes. ...On top of this treacherously pretty creature Angel had created in order to preserve Wesley's mind and body for a soul to return to.

"I'm not doing this to *you,* Wes," Angel told him, as he threw him back down onto the cement again. "I'm doing this to the demon." He lifted Wes by his shirt collar and hit him in the face again. "Because this is the only thing it understands. I'm doing this for your own good."

Wesley choked back something -- laughter, or maybe blood -- and managed to ask, "For my own good? You really are mad."

Fury, red and black fire, poured over Angel, and he found himself with his hands around Wes' throat, thumbs pressing deep. A pointless move, but one that was gratifying anyway. Wes was his now -- his to control. "You're *mine,*" he heard himself telling Wesley. "*I* know what's best for you. You do what I tell you to do."

He let go, and Wes fell back to the pavement. "Being in charge doesn't make you any smarter, does it, Angel?" Wes croaked from his crushed throat, taunting him. "I'm a *vampire* now -- you can't choke me."

With a noise far more animal than human, Angel hauled Wes back to his feet and hit him again and again until Wes collapsed, too dazed and bloody to support his own weight. Angel's fists continued to pound into his fledgling on the ground, smashing into him with brutal intensity.

Instinctive images of days long past consumed him; memories so strong that Angel almost felt transported back in time. He saw his hands hitting the young William again, as they had done so often, although it had never been enough to subdue Spike for long. He felt bones cracking and skin splitting as he tried to smash some sense into the stubborn boy, until he wasn't even sure which one he was hitting. Angelus, never truly buried, provided the inexhaustible violence still inside Angel, welling up out of him like a poisoned fountain.

And finally, when it was all over, Angel knelt on the ground, panting like a human after heavy sex, and stared at Weesley, who lay whimpering, curled up in a ball on the cement. No more taunts, no more backtalk. No more talk at all. Just pain and exhaustion. "Had enough?" Angel asked.

Wes didn't answer, but he curled into himself a little bit more. Angel felt a deep, possessive satisfaction at having finally cowed the boy. His boy. But even cowed, Angel wasn't convinced Wes had truly learned the lesson of who owned him. There had always been a 'part two' to the lessons Angelus had taught William, and Angel knew that it was this second half that had had the lasting effect on Spike.

"Come on." Angel said, rising to his feet and licking the blood from his hands. He yanked Wes up, finding he needed to support most of Wesley's weight, and started walking. "Let's go home. I've got something to show you."

 

***

"Get up."

Wesley didn't move from where he lay on the floor; he'd collapsed there after being shoved into the Hyperion lobby by his terrifying sire. He had heard the words, but wondered, if he faked unconsciousness, whether Angel might leave him alone.

"I said get up. Don't like repeating myself."

A boot slammed into the region of his kidneys, and Wesley groaned dully. He pulled on sore and torn muscles and attempted to rise, making it to his hands and knees -- smashed fingers and a broken kneecap. He whined and collapsed once more.

Angel growled, and suddenly Wes was being lifted into the air by the scruff of his neck. He was released when Angel seemed confident he had his feet. "You're pitiful, boy. Look at you."

Wes looked at the floor instead, fearing any action that might prompt the beating to start again. Angel tutted and walked around Wesley, and even his pacing shoes seemed to secrete anger like toxic fumes. The sense of déjà vu for Wesley was palpable. It was almost a surprise not to hear his father's voice when Angel spoke again.

"Were a couple of mouthfuls of human blood worth this?"

Wes was tempted to answer 'yes', as despite everything, he rather thought it had been worth it just that once, although he couldn't imagine ever risking it again. But to say 'yes' would be crass stupidity under the circumstances and so he kept silent. Angel stopped his pacing.

"You gonna make me repeat myself?"

"No." Wesley wondered vaguely if he should add a title or honorific such as 'master', or indeed, 'sire', but Angel hadn't asked him to. "No, it wasn't worth it." His voice sounded thick to his ears, his swollen lips and bruised throat having problems enunciating clearly.

"Then you won't do it again?"

"No. I won't."

"I don't believe you."

Wes looked up, alarmed, and saw Angel glaring at him, violence still a very real promise in the dark eyes. Wesley shuddered. "Please. I promise. I won't."

"You like having that guy touch you? Did it make you hard?"

"His blood made me hard," Wes answered honestly, looking back down at his feet.

"He touch your cock?"

Was Angel being possessive or just taunting him? "Through my trousers."

"Did you like it?"

"I didn't care much either way."

"Yeah? When I found you, you were dry-humping him into the wall."

Angel's feet started to circle around Wes again, making him increasingly dizzy, and he answered with unwise petulance. "Well, I've been feeling more than a little sex-starved, Angel, as well as just plain starved."

"So this is all my fault, is that what you're saying?" As Angel had made Wesley, Wes rather thought that yes, it was his fault, but Wesley kept quiet, which didn't please his sire. "And there we have the not answering again. C'mon Wes, you should learn quicker than this."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Wrong. It was. Everything you do is my fault because you're my property."

Wesley was having trouble staying upright. Everything hurt, and Angel's version of the twenty questions game was making him increasingly confused and anxious.

Angel said, "Obviously, depriving you of sex makes you misbehave, so I guess I'd better not deprive you anymore." The footsteps stopped behind Wes, and he felt himself yanked back against Angel's broad chest. Oh Lord, not now.

"Actually Angel, I'm really not in the mood..."

The lobby shot past on either side of Wesley, and he collided with the counter. The edge cut into his midriff, and his face and hands slammed down onto the top, sending business cards and stationery flying. He cried out with the sudden pain and shock, and before he could collapse to the floor again, Angel was behind him, pressing into his arse.

"You just don't get the lesson, do you? Never knew you were such a dunce, boy."

Lesson? Oh God. The same lesson he'd been having thrashed into him since he was born, of course. The inevitability of his victimisation sickened Wes. It didn't seem to matter what he did to make himself stronger, or indeed, what was done to him. It seemed his lot was always to be helplessness and humiliation. "No. I do understand. I'm yours. My needs are irrelevant. Only yours matter."

"Well, you know the rhetoric at least." Angel seemed vaguely mollified. "Go bend over my desk."

Wesley couldn't quite believe this was happening, that Angel would do this to him, or indeed, to anyone. But he wasn't anyone anymore, was he? Soulless meant rightless; he'd had the same attitude himself as a human. He was now an ethical nonentity, and normally humane souls could happily torture and kill him without a qualm.

And Angel had never exactly been humane, even at his best. There had always been Angelus, sadistic and malevolent, lurking just below the surface of Angel, waiting to be safely released on soulless demons who got in Angel's way. Like Wesley himself now.

Stiffly, and with a great deal of pain, Wes limped into Angel's office, once his own, and carefully cleared the centre of the desk before half-collapsing on top of it. He hoped this unpleasantness would soon be over, as he had a nice comfortable stupor ready and waiting for him.

Wes heard Angel walk in behind him and then felt a heavy hand on his back, pushing him flat to the tabletop. "What are you thinking, Wes?"

Wesley was too exhausted with pain and fear to be able to think of suitable lies. "I can't answer that honestly without earning another beating," he admitted wearily.

"How about you just answer and let *me* decide what punishment is due?"

"I don't want to be beaten again." Wesley's voice cracked as tears of defeat filled his eyes. He pressed his face down into the wood of the desktop, the surface somehow seeming both softer and warmer than the hand on his back.

"Should've thought of that before walking out of here earlier."

"I... The instincts are strong. I don't... I don't know how to control them." The words came out in great gulping sobs, and Wesley wasn't sure if they were even coherent. "Angel, I'm sorry, I really... am. Please leave me chained in the future as... as I've no control over myself."

The pressure of Angel's hand seemed to lessen a little. "You need to learn that control; you're no use to me without it. Even..." Angel's voice seemed to tighten a little. "Even with a soul, you'll need it."

The weight was lifted from Wesley's back completely, and hands reached around in front of him and unfastened his belt and trousers. They pooled to the floor around his feet, followed by the boxers. Wesley wondered what it would take to make Angel stop this... this thing Angel was doing to him. If he begged, would Angel stop? Or would it only make him harder? "Oh God," Wes groaned hopelessly.

"I thought you wanted this?" Angel asked coldly. "Weren't you begging me to fuck you earlier?"

"Not like this."

"But this is what you get." Angel paused. "Tell me why."

Dutifully, Wes found the right words. "Because I'm your property, and I have no say in these or any other proceedings."

"Good boy. Step out of your pants and spread your legs."

Wesley obeyed, of course, as to refuse was to invite more violence. He put almost all his weight on his undamaged leg because not to meant getting close to passing out from the pain. He felt a hand flat upon his belly and moving southward. Wes froze, trying to remain absolutely stationary, and the hand slid over his cock and balls, roughly caressing.

"Soft for me, Wes? I'm disappointed."

Short of repeating that he wasn't in the mood, Wesley didn't know what to say, but Angel seemed to have lost interest and withdrew his attentions from the front of Wes. Hands now divided his buttocks and thumbs probed between, pushing at his entrance.

Wes gritted his teeth. He didn't want this, but he had no choice except to take it. A thick finger pushed inside, and he tensed, only to receive a smack on the side of his arse.

"Relax! You're not doing yourself any favours here."

"Angel, please don't do this. Remember who you are..." Wes stopped abruptly as an angry growl from his sire filled him with fear.

"I think I want you to shut the fuck up now, boy. There was a time I liked being begged to stop, but not now."

A second unlubricated finger thrust in to join the first, and Wes cried out as he felt himself tear. "No, please. Don't do this. Don't... oh God!" That last was because Wesley's writhing had brought his cock into painful contact with the desk edge and forced him to realise that he was suddenly erect and rock hard. "This is insane!" he protested.

Angel chuckled darkly. "Maybe. You're enough to drive me crazy; that's for sure. Always have been."

The fingers were withdrawn, and Wes braced himself for the next inevitable invasion. An invasion that part of him seemed suddenly to be wanting very much. Wesley's whimpers were now more to do with his distress at his own reactions than what Angel was doing.

And so this was what he was now? A creature who so craved violence that he enjoyed it even when it was inflicted upon him? The part of Wesley that remembered being human was highly disturbed by this development, but as Angel's cock pressed against his hole, the perturbation was submerged and drowning under a tidal wave of intense arousal. Angel thrust brutally inside with a grunt, and Wes screamed as pain ripped through him, but the scream was not that of a victim.

Wes crackled into game face, his broken fingers clutching ineffectually at the desk edge as he drove his arse back to meet Angel, whose thrusts were forceful and possessive. "Harder, faster, deeper," Wesley demanded, and he received a blow to his ribs as immediate punishment, but he didn't care. The scared child in him had retreated, happy to give up control to the starving demon, and now this was all about satisfying an itch which had been constant ever since he'd awakened chained to Angel's bed.

Whether it was deliberate or accidental, Angel was hitting Wesley's prostate more times than not and driving Wes into an intensity of passion. He wailed and tried to stand up, knowing he would be shoved back down hard and wanting to experience that dominance. He was, his face smashing into the wood, and he snarled and whined and cried, "More!"

A big-cat roar came from Angel above him, and Wes knew Angel must be releasing his own wildness and that thought aroused Wesley further. He tried to twist around to see Angel's face, but a hand grabbed his hair, and pulled him painfully up by it, until he gave up his ambitions. The thick cock was pistoning within his arse, sliding easily on Wesley's blood, which he could smell. It too excited him.

Everything was overpoweringly erotic, and Wes felt his balls tighten, and he groaned. A grip of iron suddenly encircled his cock around the base. "Hope you're not thinking of doing something without permission, boy." Angel's voice was rough, containing considerably more than a hint of animal growl.

Oh God, he couldn't possibly last. Wes howled in protest, and his head was smacked stunningly hard onto the desktop. He lay limply while his vision and thoughts settled again, his body being pulled back and forth across the table by the motion of Angel's increasingly violent thrusts.

"Tell me who you belong to," his sire ordered.

Wes smiled in his daze, for some reason keen to give the right answer. "You. I'm yours."

"You want to please me?"

"Yes. Oh God, yes."

"Nothing but total obedience is gonna please me."

"It's yours," Wes promised blithely, a part of him maybe even meaning it. His head was clearing, and he began to contract his muscles around Angel's cock, provoking another roar of reaction. God, but Wesley wanted something to sink his teeth into. He propped himself slightly on his elbows and moved an arm underneath his face.

Angel shuddered, and his voice was ragged and panting. "Fed up with your crap, boy. Your lies and betrayals -- they're all over now. You understand?"

The hand was removed from Wesley's cock, making him whine in protest. "Yes. No more 'crap'. I'm yours. Please may I come?"

"Not until I do!" But by the sound and feel of things, that wouldn't be long. Angel's rhythm was broken, and his thrusts were accompanied by a string of grunts and growls. The ragged tempo increased until Angel abruptly stopped moving, his fingers pressing into Wesley's hips almost hard enough to break the bone below. Wes bit into his own arm, sucking hard, trying to find some release. Angel, shuddering in orgasm, was silent, then collapsed heavily on top of Wes when he was done.

"Come now," he muttered.

A hand circled round to hold Wesley's cock and jerk it gracelessly a few times. It was enough, and Wesley released his teeth from the flesh of his arm and howled. He spasmed below Angel, hearing the wet splatter of his semen hitting the underside of the desk.

There was a short silence as the pair twitched and recovered somewhat. Wesley couldn't have talked if he'd wanted to, as his orgasmic yell had emptied his lungs of air, and Angel's weight was making inhaling more rather difficult. Eventually, Angel shuffled about and stood up, pulling out of Wesley's arse.

Now that the passion was spent, Wesley's face reverted to human, and he found his earlier emotions of fear, humiliation and helplessness returning. Hell, he wanted the passion back. He wanted to *want* this treatment, not to fear it, since it was going to happen no matter what he did, and enjoying it seemed by far the more pleasant course of action.

He heard Angel doing up his fly, but Wes himself didn't move from the table top, waiting for instruction, which promptly came. "Take off the rest of your clothes and go upstairs to the shower and get clean. I don't want to be able to smell anyone on you but me."

Stiffly, whimpering with pain, Wes straightened up. His broken fingers made removing the shirt difficult, and eventually, he lost his temper, rippling into game face and tearing the garment from his chest. The pain was so much easier to bear when furious, and Wes made himself dwell on his unjust treatment, trying to maintain the outrage.

Dropping the rags of his shirt to the floor with his trousers, Wesley limped out of the office, feeling Angel's gaze on his back like a harness. He made his way upstairs, channelling the agony into anger to keep himself going.

In the shower, he again washed away blood, but this time it was his own. His body was broken -- piebald with huge bruises, torn internally, and fractured in many places. Wes had no idea how he was still standing up. Staggering from the shower, he made it to Angel's bedroom, but he was clueless about what was next expected of him.

Wesley was too tired and the rage had faded despite his best attempts. Grief and defeat filled him, and he collapsed to the floor, curling into as much of a ball as he could manage. He was beaten in every sense, and even the appalling hunger was partially quelled by the exhaustion.

Angel found him there quite a while later, still naked and damp from the shower. Saying nothing, his sire lifted him like a baby and carried him to the bed. Wes was pushed to his back and his limbs were forced to straighten painfully out. His eyes rolled in his head, but he turned his face away from Angel, not wanting any chance of focusing on his tormentor.

After a few moments of blissful stillness, a now naked Angel lay down beside him, and a heavily possessive arm and leg were clamped across Wesley's body. He was going nowhere tonight.

Having nothing else within his power to do, Wesley fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_I would like to try your charity until you cry, "Now you must try my greed."_

 

Angel woke with a start. The kind that would have set a living heart beating wildly, but which only filled him with a sense of dread. He was lying on his side, with one arm and leg thrown over Wesley's still-sleeping form. It was a possessive posture; one that spoke loudly of 'mine' and 'stay.'

He rolled away carefully, not wanting to wake up Wesley. Not yet. Angel needed a few minutes to absorb everything that had happened the night before. The big knuckle on his right hand held the faint ache of an almost-healed injury as he moved.

Settling himself back on the pillow, Angel realized that on some level it had all been like a strange dream. After the nightmare of dealing with the bodies of his human family, finding Wesley gone had scared him -- for the first minute, and then the anger had taken over. It had felt... *right* to return to the hunt. Easy. Natural.

It had been instinct pulling at him. It hadn't been about hunger or feeding -- not for blood, at least -- and it might not have resulted in a kill, but it had been a hunt all the same. He wasn't sure what it was he'd been seeking -- just the simple violence, maybe? Although it had been Wes specifically that he'd wanted to possess. He was going to keep Wes.

Wes stirred slightly, and Angel turned onto his side so that he could look at the younger vampire, whose face was mottled with bruising, some of it so dark that it was almost black. The split lip had made only the slightest of attempts toward healing in the past six or seven hours, and the cracked cheekbone gave Wesley's face, even in sleep, a crooked, uncared-for appearance.

Wes' hand, where it lay on the mattress, was equally crooked. His broken fingers didn't look like they'd healed at all during the night. Angel reached out slowly and slipped the sheet lower, exposing Wes' side down to his waist, looking at the cuts and bruises on the pale skin.

Blue eyes, made all the sharper by the lack of glasses, opened and met his.

Angel felt his lips twitch in an attempt at a smile; an attempt that was almost instantly aborted when he saw recognition dawn in Wesley's eyes, followed immediately by fear. Wes pulled back away from him, wincing in pain from his many injuries.

All of which, Angel tried to accept, had been caused by himself.

"It's okay," he said gently, moving his hand to touch Wesley's arm in one of the few spots that seemed undamaged.

Wesley flinched away from him, a sound like a little moan escaping his torn lips.

"It's okay, Wes," Angel said again. "I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help." He sat up and reached for Wesley, who cringed, but didn't try to get away. Angel could feel the other vampire trembling under his hands as he explored the injuries with gentle fingers. "This hurt?" he asked, pressing carefully on Wesley's fractured cheekbone.

"Yes," Wesley answered quietly, as if he was afraid not to answer, but also worried that his answer might not be the right one.

"I'm not surprised. I really did a number on you." Now that Angel could see the damage up close and personal, he felt vaguely ill.

He had to remind himself that all of this -- torn flesh, broken bones, crushed blood vessels -- would heal. In a day or two it would be almost back to normal. Better than normal. Better than human anyway.

He could tell himself all of this, but none of it made him feel better. Knowing that the damage, no matter how severe, was temporary didn't make it any easier to look at Wes, because when it came down to it, it was *Wes* he was seeing. His friend's face hid the demon's, and that made it all the harder.

And underneath, there was the part of it that Angel wanted to deny; would try to deny to everyone including himself. That was the part that delighted in the destruction of Wesley's body; the part that believed the marks on Wesley told the world that Angel owned him. Temporary they might be, but those tattoos had come from Angel's hands, and even as he tried not to think about it, the demon inside him whispered that he'd loved hurting Wes. Loved the sex. Loved the ownership. It was what fed the demon, what the demon craved, even while it sickened Angel's soul.

Angel had to ask himself if some of it was coming from a deep desire to hurt Wesley. Did he still want to punish Wes for having taken Connor the year before? Or was it all Angelus inside him?

Trying to put it aside, Angel brushed his fingers lightly over Wes' face again. "You should be healing by now," he said, as much to himself as to his charge.

"Should I?" Wesley looked vaguely worried, but he sounded distant. Like he was locked up inside himself somehow.

"Yeah," Angel told him, trying to be reassuring. "It's okay; it's not your fault."

Guilt lay heavily on him like a mantle; a constant reminder of what he had done. He knew intellectually that this training was something he had to do to keep Wes in line for the time being, until they were able to get the soul back. Not to mention that when Wesley *did* get his soul back, the training would still benefit him, giving him a foundation in controlling his vamp urges.

If Angel didn't do what it took to get Wesley to obey, then his only option would be to leave him chained all the time, and reality was, Angel *needed* Wes. He needed his help, and not just because Wesley was the acknowledged brains of the operation. Angel didn't want to do this alone. He wasn't sure that he could.

What it came right down to with Wes, of course, was that Angel wasn't Angelus anymore. The soul made a difference, and the constant reminder of that was starting to get to him. Actions and words that had come easily as Angelus, when it had been Spike on the receiving end of the abuse, were... okay, still easy as Angel when he let them be, little as he liked to admit it. But afterward, when it was over, they were actions and words that were hard to live with.

Angel reached for Wesley again, needing to touch him to comfort himself as much as to comfort Wes. More, because at first Wes cringed away from him, and when Angel pulled him close, Wesley was rigid in his arms. He ran a gentle hand down Wes' back, mindful of the injuries that were obviously causing him a lot of pain. "Relax," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Wesley didn't seem to buy that statement, not pulling away, but remaining tense and cautious.

"Shh," Angel said, using his hands to soothe Wes as best he could, aiming for the parts of Wes' body that were the least damaged. "S'okay. Relax, Wes."

Gradually Wesley did relax, sinking into the mattress, and letting Angel cradle him carefully.

"I'm sorry," Angel found himself saying. "I don't like having to do this, you know." That was a little too close to a lie, so he changed tacks. "We're gonna fix this, Wesley. We'll find out who did this, and make them pay. We're going to get your soul back and everything's going to be..." What, like it used to be? That wasn't true. Better? "Things'll be better."

Wes shifted uncomfortably and stifled a groan.

"Hurts a lot, huh?" Angel asked.

Wesley hesitated before answering. "Yes."

"Okay. Shhh." Angel stroked the small of Wesley's back, running his fingers over his spine.

Wes wasn't healing because he was running too close to starvation mode. It was one thing to try to heal a broken bone or two on animal blood, but another entirely to try to heal multiple injuries on a fledgling's metabolism and not *enough* animal blood. "Hungry?"

The question had been rhetorical, but the answer came quickly this time. "Yes."

Angel eased his arm out from under Wes, trying not to hurt him any more than he had to, and wincing himself as the sheet fell back far enough to expose Wes' shattered and swollen knee. "Try to get comfortable," Angel told him, moving to retrieve the manacles and chains. "I'm going to go out and get you some blood..." He paused, and then said awkwardly. "Being chained up, it's just gonna make it hurt worse. I wouldn't do it if I didn't have to."

Wesley finished rearranging himself on the bed and looked up at Angel, his expression hard to read. "No, you're right."

Angel restrained Wes, making sure to do a good enough job that there was no way the other vampire would get free, but keeping his injuries in mind. Slipping into some clean clothes, he said, "Okay. I'll be back soon. Try to rest."

He drove to Larry's because it would take less time, and because he thought it would be a good idea to stop at Wesley's apartment on the way back and pick up a few things. As Angel drove, an endless mantra in his head told him again and again that he'd made a mistake in turning Wesley. That he shouldn't have done it; that he might be able to gain control of Wes, but that he was going to break the man's spirit in the process.

Angel asked Larry for the special, forked over an obscenely-high but totally-worth-it amount of cash, and received a paper bag with some units of human blood in exchange.

On the way back to the hotel, Angel swung by Wes' place -- he didn't have a key, but the lock broke easily enough when he leaned his shoulder into the door. He found a suitcase on the floor of the bedroom closet and began to toss a random selection of clothes into it.

Angel paused for a long moment with his hands in amongst Wes' hung-up dress shirts, letting the fabric slip between his fingers. Wesley had come into the Hyperion wearing some of these shirts over the past year-- come in from L.A.'s smog-filtered sunshine, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light in the hotel.

Wes would never come in from the sunshine again.

For that matter, neither would any of the others. No matter how Angel tried, he couldn't push away the memory of his friends' bodies in the basement, the repressed thought nagging at him from his subconscious. They were all among the reasons that he deserved to suffer.

Determinedly, Angel moved through the apartment, looking for items that might mean something to Wesley, things that would make him feel more secure. He added a couple of books that looked well-read and an unopened bottle of whiskey to the suitcase.

Wes hadn't been wearing his glasses much in the past few months, but Angel wondered if maybe having them around -- even if they weren't needed -- would help make the hotel feel more like home. Familiar was familiar, and at this point Angel was willing to do pretty much whatever it took to snap Wesley out of what he'd fallen into.

Where would the glasses be? They weren't in the bathroom with the contact lens supplies. He moved into the bedroom and opened the top drawer of the bureau. Inside, next to the rows of neatly-folded socks, was the Murshan Dynasty dagger Angel had brought back from his summer in Sri Lanka.

It was the gift he'd bought for Wesley before they'd even known that Connor had been conceived, before he'd been born, and before he'd been taken. All of it, like a house of precariously balanced cards, had come fluttering down around them and left nothing but pieces needing to be picked up.

He couldn't help but feel surprised, and slightly pleased, that Wesley had kept the gift despite what had happened since. Sure, Wes was a practical guy, and maybe he'd kept the dagger as a useful tool, or just because it was valuable. On the other hand, maybe he'd kept it around as a reminder of what he'd lost. Still... it made Angel feel better, somehow.

Angel decided to leave the dagger where it was for now. A continued search for Wesley's glasses turned them inside the drawer of the bedside table. Angel couldn't find a case for them, so he folded them up and tucked them carefully into his pocket as his eyes fell on the leather-bound notebook they'd been sitting beside. Curious, he picked it up and flipped through it.

The book was almost full of notes taken in Wes' careful hand, precise and easy to read, like he thought some day someone might read them and evaluate the job he'd done. Angel couldn't help but notice his own name, again and again. There was hardly a page where he wasn't mentioned -- even during the time that they'd been estranged.

He randomly opened to a page near the middle of the book, and read the entry.

I received an e-mail this evening instructing me to meet an unknown someone alone in a bar called Mystique on the west side of L.A. I should have known it would be Lilah. I was prepared to walk right back out again, but she pointed out that Justine was also present. Lilah claimed that she had set Justine up to be slaughtered. For my benefit. It was, however, a test. A test to see how I would react to the possibility of the woman who had tried to murder me being murdered in *front* of me.

Luckily, the point was moot, as Angel happened to be in the same bar as well, and headed straight for Justine. He and a young man managed to dust the vampires before they injured anyone. I watched the whole encounter from my vantage point on the balcony.

The young man was Connor; there isn't a doubt in my mind, although I can't quite explain it. He moved just like his father.

Angel flipped to another page later on.

I've been searching for Angel for nearly five weeks now, every night. I'm continuing to keep very careful records of the grids I've already searched using the hydrographic survey system, and progress remains slow. The sonar signals whenever we encounter anything metallic of sufficient size, but unfortunately so far, this has only turned out to be things such as anchors, oil drums, and parts from old boat wrecks.

I'm not going to give up. I'll keep looking until I find him. I have to.

Angel wasn't sure if the constant repetition of his own name in the entries made him feel better, or worse. He put the journal back on the bedside table, closed the suitcase, and headed back to Wesley.

***

Wesley woke from dreamlessness to the smell of something wonderful just under his nose. He immediately tried to move towards it, only to be stopped short when the chains spread-eagling him to the bed pulled tight with a jolt. He remembered where he was. And why. Only then did the pain register, and he moaned, tipping his head back into the pillow.

"There you are. Thought that would wake you." Angel's voice; Wesley looked miserably in the direction of the sound.

Angel was sitting on the edge of the bed and in his hand was an open sachet of blood. It was from there that the tantalising smell was emerging. Wesley eyed it rather desperately, his face instinctively hardening and greedy fangs protruding. Every cell in his battered body was screaming for the sustenance the blood offered, but he said nothing. Although he couldn't help a slight whimper trembling out from his parched throat.

"Want it?" his sire asked gently, which Wesley considered quite an astoundingly stupid question under the circumstances, but he gave no answer, and Angel sighed. "Talk to me? C'mon, Wes, you're worrying me."

Through bruise-thickened lips, Wes struggled out a croaked, "Yes."

"You want the blood?"

"Yes!" Wesley's repeated answer was rich with exasperated frustration, and when he heard himself, he flinched, waiting for the inevitable blow.

Which didn't fall. "Shh. Not gonna hurt you."

Wesley remembered now that Angel had seemed caring, perhaps even remorseful, when Wesley had last woken, and he wondered dismally what the game was now. The sense of a damoclean sword above his head was enormous and prevented clear thought, as did the appalling hunger. The pain, on the other hand, seemed to help a bit, and Wes deliberately shifted his body into a more uncomfortable posture. But it wasn't enough to defog his mind.

Angel put the blood-bag on the bedside table, propping it against the lamp. Wes half-noticed a brown carrier bag also on the table, but most of his attention was on the blood. Angel began to unchain Wes, who couldn't tear his gaze from the side table. "Please," Wes eventually submitted to beg. He had to have it.

Angel was rubbing gently at Wesley's freed wrists, but with that word, he helped Wes sit up and then passed him the plastic packet, which had writing printed upon it. "Take it. Drink."

Oh Lord, it was human blood. No wonder it smelled so good. Sensory memories of 'Charles', and the incredible taste of the blood straight from the human's veins, filled Wesley. He remembered the smell of the man's fear and the feel of the human struggling helplessly to free himself.

Wesley whimpered. It must be a trick. But he nonetheless took the blood with shaking and still broken hands. A small, scarlet jet squirted out of the opening and landed on his arm. He stared at it, transfixed. Dear God. Was Angel trying to see if Wesley had learnt his lesson from yesterday? He'd learnt it. Human blood was bad. He mustn't crave it; he mustn't try to obtain it.

He wanted it. Oh God, how he wanted it.

"Go on." Angel seemed puzzled. He paused in unfastening Wesley's ankles, leaving one still in its manacle. "Drink. You need it."

With a sense of horror, Wes felt his whole body start to spasm in great gulping sobs. Blood squirted out from the packet as his hands clenched, going to waste; it stained the bed covers. He stared at the spreading red with dismay. Wesley was bewildered and distraught, torn between hunger and fear of punishment. Rational thought seemed lost to him, which frightened him all the more.

"Shit," Angel cursed half under his breath and quickly freed the last ankle. He moved up on the bed to sit behind Wes, stretching his legs out to either side of the younger vampire.

Wesley felt his sire close against his naked back and shuddered, remembering the feel of Angel thrusting inside him, ripping him internally and arousing him unbearably. Strong arms encircled him, holding him against a broad chest, and a soothing voice vibrated softly in his ear.

"Drink, Wes, I've got you. Not gonna hurt you. You're safe. Please drink."

The hunger wailed around inside Wesley like a banshee spirit. Controlling his wracking sobs as best he could, he lifted the packet to his mouth and began to suck voraciously. Angel didn't stop him. And even Wesley's patchwork thoughts were lost to him as the blood roared into his veins. It seemed to take only a few fractions of a second and then the bag was empty. He stared blankly at the drained plastic, looking at the words printed upon it, but not reading them.

Angel stroked Wesley's upper belly in a slow circular motion. "Want some more?"

More? There was more? "Yes... please."

Angel reached over to the brown paper bag and removed a second blood unit. Wes noticed that something of equal size remained within the bag. Angel put the blood in Wesley's hands and went back to soothing Wes with gentle, stroking hands across his chest and belly, and now also pressing kisses on his neck. Wes shivered and looked down at the blood bag, unsure what to do with it.

There was distinct concern in Angel's voice when he instructed, "Use your fangs. Jeez, I hope I haven't given you brain damage."

Wesley found he wanted to reassure Angel. "I'm just confused, not..." his voice trailed off. Angel tightened his hug, which caused pain to shoot through Wesley's body from his unhealed ribs. But it was a strangely comforting gesture nonetheless.

Wes bit into the bag. More cold yet wonderful blood filled his mouth, and he drank it down fast. He could feel it was doing him good. Sensation was returning to numbed extremities, and yes, the blood was arousing him.

Did all male vampires really spend their existences constantly at least half-erect? Or was there something wrong with him? His awareness of Angel's clothed body behind his naked one increased.

Angel took the third blood packet from the paper bag and leant back against the headboard, pulling Wes with him. "Relax. Let me hold you. Got room for this last one?"

"Yes?" Wesley wasn't sure if greed would be approved of, but he was still so very hungry. He lay back against Angel, doing his very best to relax as instructed. Despite the fact that Wes only required such tender care because of Angel's beating, it nonetheless felt good to be nurtured and cared for by his sire.

Angel put the third bag in Wesley's hands, taking the empty plastic and laying it to the side. "Drink this one slowly," he said firmly.

Wesley could do that, he thought. Things weren't quite so urgent now. With his head leaning back against Angel's shoulder, he slowly sucked the blood from the plastic, savouring each mouthful, as he didn't know when he'd be allowed it again. He couldn't quite believe he was being allowed it *now* and was waiting for the other hob-nailed boot to fall. But Angel's arms were still around him, keeping him close, keeping him... safe.

"Why wouldn't you drink at first?" Angel asked after a while.

Wes removed the bag from his mouth. "It was human. I... I thought it was a test."

"Oh." Wesley felt soft lips on the side of his head. "You were trying to please me. My good, obedient boy."

A little shiver of pleasure ran through him. "Why..." He stopped.

"Ask. It's okay."

Wincing, fearing the worst, Wesley obeyed. "Why do you call me that? 'Boy', I mean. Do you see me as your son now?"

Angel sighed very softly. "My son's dead. You're... my offspring, sure, but in a totally different way. And you're my friend."

"Really?" Wesley felt that was somewhat unlikely and tried to repress a surge of hope at the words.

Angel asked sadly, "You don't think our friendship can survive this?"

Wes began to squeeze the last drops from his blood bag. "That's rather up to you, isn't it?"

"No?"

Angel was clearly flummoxed, and Wes reviewed the conversation to see where the confusion had arisen. It seemed that Angel must be thinking solely about the future, whereas Wesley had been contemplating their mutual past. "Were we friends again before... before you made me?"

"I thought so. Getting there, anyway."

"Oh. I didn't realise." Which seemed a stupid thing to say, but it was the truth. Wes had taken Angel's words, which had accompanied the pillow, as a solemn vow; he was never to be forgiven. "I'm sorry."

Angel's hands tensed upon him. "Are you?"

Wesley knew full well what Angel meant. "I don't think I can feel guilt anymore, Angel, at least not in the same way. But I *was* sorry, quite appallingly so."

There was silence for a while during which Angel seemed immobile, and Wes felt the stirrings of fear begin to return. Had he gone too far? Was the violence to start again? Wesley found that, although his brain was clear and fog-free after so much blood, he was still running mostly on emotion and instinct rather than intellectual thought. And that felt precarious and unsettling; it wasn't him. At least, it wasn't who he'd once been.

Angel jolted out of some thought process and seemed to only now notice that Wes had finished his blood. "That's my boy," he said, taking the empty packet and putting it with the others. "C'mon, turn around so I can take a look at you."

Angel was still talking to Wesley as if the younger vampire were a child, but Wes couldn't bring himself to care much, as the words and the loving attention were reassuring, and indeed, catering to a deep and long-hidden need inside of him. He shuffled around, remaining between Angel's legs and laying his own carefully over his sire's thigh. He twisted his upper body to face Angel, meeting his gaze.

"You're looking much better already. That's good to see." Angel examined Wesley's face, tipping it from side to side with a hand under his chin. "Soon you'll be as good as new."

Wes thought that even with vampire healing, it would take a good few days, but perhaps that was what Angel meant by 'soon'. He felt very warm and grateful towards Angel, and he wondered if this was the nature of Stockholm Syndrome. Upon consideration, he decided it was more the nature of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, as he could remember thinking his father was wonderful every time an expression of small mercy followed a heavy punishment.

"I won't forget," he promised, lightly stroking fingers -- which seemed to be straighter now -- over Angel's shirt.

"What?"

"I won't forget the lesson. When the injuries have healed and vanished, I'll still remember what you taught me."

"Ah. Good. My good Wes." Angel's voice thickened with some emotion, and he held Wesley tightly against him.

A brief ripple of humiliation flickered through Wesley on the tail of the rush of pure pleasure that came again with Angel's embarrassingly paternal praise. But the shame, if that was indeed what it was, was quickly extinguished, as Wes felt Angel's cock harden against his hip. He wriggled sensually against it. "Angel..."

"Shh..." he murmured in reply. "It's too early for this. You need to heal."

Wes calculated his next response with the sense of taking a big gamble. "I want to please you. I want to very much."

The imprisoned cock twitched again against Wesley, and Angel groaned. "You are. You're pleasing me. But we need to wait before sex. You need more time to heal inside."

The reaction had been satisfying even if the ultimate refusal was not. Wes glanced up to meet Angel's eyes again, looking at him from under hooded lids. "Perhaps there's something less physically adventurous I could do that would please?"

Wes knew he was behaving like some coquette, but it was all about cause and effect. Angel seemed to like Wes this way, and pleasing Angel should ultimately lead to pleasurable rewards. Unless Wesley escaped somehow, his sire had control of his unlife, and Angel was therefore the complex control panel that Wes had to learn to manipulate. It was a question of understanding and adapting to a new rules set. He hadn't done too well so far, but he was determined to do better.

Wes lowered his gaze to stare at Angel's lips; he knew where he wanted to start his studies.

So did Angel, and he laughed. "You can kiss me, Wes." So Wesley did, looping his arms around Angel's neck and pressing his lips hesitantly against Angel's, quickly growing more confident. Angel's hands tightened upon him again, but after a few minutes they pushed Wes away. "Heh. Nice." Angel looked a little flustered.

Encouraged, Wes pushed his hip against his sire's erection once more. "Maybe I'm more healed than you realise?" he offered.

"Because of this?" Angel asked, drawing a finger up Wesley's own cock from base to tip and making him whimper. "Wasn't sure you'd still want sex after what I did."

"I... I enjoyed it. That bit, I mean." He looked up at Angel and added wryly, "I really have changed, haven't I?"

"Yeah, Wes," Angel nodded. "As a vamp you'll enjoy -- you'll *need*-- things that as a human would have... well, been not so good."

"Do you need those things too?" Wes was concerned that his question might have been too invasive, but Angel continued to indulge him.

"Violence, pain, blood... yeah. The needs don't go away with the soul."

Wes thought that yesterday must have satisfied quite a few of those needs for Angel. "And sex? I seem to have been constantly, well..."

"Like this?" Angel asked with a small laugh, encircling Wesley's cock and jerking it gently.

Wes gasped, inadvertently thrusting forward with his hips and clinging to Angel's shoulders. "Oh. Yes, like that," he acknowledged with a slightly strangled voice.

"Now look what you've got me doing. After I said no and all." Angel's hand was still stroking Wesley, who very much wanted that state of affairs to continue. "You wanna please me, Wes? You wanna be my good boy?"

"Very much," he replied earnestly, meaning it, for the time being at least.

Angel smacked Wesley's arse lightly. "Then quit with the flirting, get up, and get dressed." He laughed, removing his hands from Wes. "And don't look at me like that, it won't be long. I just want to give that blood a chance to work."

Knowing far better then to argue, even with Angel in such an expansive mood, Wes shifted stiffly to his feet, noting he was in considerably less pain than he had been. He tried to ignore his throbbing erection, but the ghosts of Angel's fingers were still caressing him. "What clothes would you like me to wear?"

"I brought back some of yours. In the suitcase."

Wes walked to where Angel indicated around the other side of the bed and found an item of his own luggage. "You've been to my apartment?"

Angel nodded. "Wanted to make you feel more at home."

Wesley couldn't decide if he was touched by the consideration or annoyed at the invasion of his territory, but ultimately the opportunity to wear his own things was something to be grateful for. "Thank you."

He lifted the suitcase to the bed and opened it. There were books and a bottle of good whisky on top of the clothes, and Wes looked at Angel curiously, who shifted on the bed. "I was looking for things that might make you feel more comfortable. But there wasn't anything that really stood out."

And now there was no question of annoyance; Angel really had been trying his clumsy best to look after Wes, and Wesley was warmed by the concern. He stroked the covers of the books thoughtfully. "They don't seem to have much to do with me now. So much has changed. Everything really."

"I'm still here," Angel pointed out.

"Yes, you're the one constant," Wes acknowledged with a small smile. His life had revolved around Angel for over three years. It had been a somewhat deadly obsession for Wesley really, but it showed no signs of easing.

He chose some clothes and started to get dressed. As he did, Angel rose and came to stand beside him. Wes felt his sire's presence like a magnet dragging on the iron in his blood, but he tried his best to ignore the sensation.

Angel said, "You're moving better now."

"The blood really helped. Thank you."

"So... how are we going to stop this happening again, Wes?"

Many facetious comments flickered through Wesley's mind, all of which he immediately discarded as highly unwise. He paused halfway through buttoning his shirt. "I... I do have a suggestion if you'd care to hear it."

"Go ahead."

"You need my brain functions to be optimal if we want to discover the reason behind the..." He stopped as flashes of his dead friend's faces caught him unguarded. It really was a bit much. Being soulless, Wes would have thought, would mean far more not giving a damn, and considerably less of the torment of loss. Swallowing, he continued. "The reason everyone we cared about is dead. Therefore, depriving me of my physical needs may not be... I mean, it may be wise to..."

Angel seemed to sense Wes was having trouble finding suitably meek words. "You think I should keep you well-fed and well-fucked."

"Yes," Wesley replied, smiling weakly. "I know you want me to learn self-control, but perhaps for now, solving this case is more important."

Angel snorted. "Could be that you're trying to manipulate me, Wes. But you're lucky because, in this case, I happen to agree with you."

Wesley supposed there had been some manipulation in his words, but his intent had been genuine. It really was the solution that made the most pragmatic sense to him. Even as a human, his thought processes had become fractured and unreliable when his body's physical needs had drained his attention. And his vampiric urges were so much more demanding.

Angel promised, "I'll keep you happy unless you piss me off again."

"Ah yes, about that. Perhaps you would consider leaving me chained next time you leave me downstairs?" Wes surprised himself very little with the request, as he'd already realised that beatings and forced sex were apparently not enough to break him from his Angelic obsession, and he clearly didn't want to escape. He looked earnestly at Angel. "Please?"

Angel took Wes into his arms. "The chains make you feel safe?" Wes didn't answer. Instead, he found himself leaning in for a kiss. Angel craned his head away while keeping his arms tight around Wes. "Uh-uh-uh. Not until I say."

"I really *am* better," Wes insisted, rubbing himself against Angel, who growled.

"Don't push it." Immediately, Wesley froze in a fear response to the tone, and then tried to cringe away from Angel, who sighed with exasperation. "You need to find a happy medium. I want respect from you, not a nervous wreck."

"I'm sorry." Wesley thought that what Angel was asking for was totally unreasonable considering his actions yesterday, but ultimately, it seemed, it was Angel's to ask for. He tried very hard to relax again within Angel's hold. "I'm trying to learn. I fall down on the... drives. The hungers -- they're so strong. How on earth do you...?"

"Years of practice. It'll never be easy." Angel sighed and admitted, "I'm probably expecting too much from you too soon.

"People always have," Wes smiled shyly, returning to coquetry again, as it had been a lot more successful than more overt sexual behaviour. "I should be used to it by now."

Angel kissed Wes briefly on the lips. "C'mon, let's go downstairs. We need to find out who or what we have to get even with." He let Wes go and turned to the door. "You gonna follow me like a good boy?"

Wes smiled wryly at his sire's broad back and answered, "Always, Angel."


	6. Chapter 6

_And everything depends upon how near you sleep to me..._

 

"Wait," Wesley cringed at the bare word and hastily added, "Please. If I may, I'd like to..."

Angel looked around patiently from the bedroom doorway. "Spit it out."

Wes picked up one of the manacles with its length of chain that had, ten minutes or so ago, been attached to his ankle. "Might I take this down with me?"

Angel's expression didn't seem to change, but Wes nonetheless gained an impression that Angel was a little perplexed or taken aback by Wesley's request. However, "Sure," the big vampire said, and walked out of the room. Wes followed behind carrying the manifest bonds of subjection in his hands like a little boy with a security blanket.

He tried very hard not to analyse why he was doing this.

Downstairs, Angel went to collect some blood from the kitchen, leaving Wes studying the office layout. By the time he returned, Wes was in the process of shoving a desk closer to the bookcase.

"What are you doing?"

Wesley froze. Angel sounded more bewildered than angry, but Wes had acted without permission and he knew it. "I'm sorry," He turned to face Angel properly. "I should have asked. I was arranging things so that the books and my workspace were within a chain's length of each other. There's a brass gas tap here that we could use as a tethering point."

Angel placed one of two mugs of microwaved blood on the bookcase. "Wes, you don't need to be chained while I'm with you."

"I know," Wesley replied in a patient tone. "I thought it was better to be prepared in case you had to leave in a hurry." He sighed softly at the continued puzzlement Angel was evincing. "I'm sorry. I'll move things back the way they were."

"No, leave them." Angel went over to the other desk and sat down, sipping his drink. "So what's the plan?"

"With the research?" Wes checked, although Angel was unlikely to be deferring to him about anything else. He took the blood from the shelf and sat down with it. "Well, first we must discover the nature of what afflicted us. There are many possibilities and avenues to explore, but I believe I can categorise them all into four types, which should make our investigations a little easier." Wes paused as Angel was staring at him in a decidedly strange way. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah," Angel smiled softly. "Keep going."

"Hmm. Well, the first type would be malicious entities such as Billy Blim, or the Thesulac demon who was inhabiting this place when Angel Investigations first came here. Or alternatively, possessing spirits completely taking over our minds and bodies. So basically, I'm referring to entities that could be deliberately using power to influence or control our actions. Related but distinct to these would be category number two -- innate powers and influences used unwittingly, such as those of Jhiera and her ilk."

"Uh-huh." Angel looked thoughtful. "Wonder what happened to her."

A small twinge of jealousy went through Wes at the thought of Angel and the Oden Tal woman, and he moved on quickly. "Thirdly, we have to consider drugs and chemical effects, such as the Doximal you were once poisoned with, only something that would produce a psychotic reaction in humans also. I believe there are some derivatives of ergot that could match the symptoms. However, I have no memory of the intense pain and convulsions that normally accompany St Anthony's Fire. Do you?"

Angel shook his head. "If it were a drug or poison, then it had to be in the champagne. That's the only thing we all had."

"Yes, or in the air. Vampires may not respire as such, but they... we still take in air to speak. Other mycotoxins such as those extracted from Fly Algaric are a possibility. The Vikings purportedly used that mushroom to induce their battle frenzies, and it was the original source for LSD. Which, admittedly, doesn't have a reputation for provoking berserker fits."

"PCP does," Angel pointed out.

"Hmm, Angel Dust," Wes nodded. "Yes, that could be someone's idea of humour. Well considered." They shared an uneasy smile. "The final category is magic. I think Lorne's memory recovery spell for Cordelia is a very good example of how completely magic can affect our minds."

Angel looked glumly at the bookcase. "That's a whole lot of research."

"Right then. Better get started, hadn't you?" Wes grinned in reply, and then belatedly remembered his place. "I'm sorry," he apologised humbly. "I forgot for a moment."

Sitting in this familiar environment, involved in this activity, it was all too easy to forget what he was now. And he couldn't help but notice Angel seemed happier when Wes acted like his old self, even when that meant Wesley was assuming authority. But the new vampire understood all too clearly what a precipitous path he was walking. And he knew that the moment he went too far, he'd be slapped back down with force and fury.

"It's okay." Angel seemed saddened. "Hand me a book."

Wesley selected several volumes from the shelf and placed Whitaker's Compendium in front of Angel. "Many kinds of demonic and spiritual possession are detailed in there." Angel opened the heavy volume and began to read the closely packed print.

Switching on the computer, Wesley commented, "It's worth noting that we didn't damage furniture or equipment at all in our misadventures. Well, unless you count the blood stains everywhere of course. We're going to need a small fortune in cleaning fluid."

There was a slight growling noise from Angel. Glancing over, Wes saw that he was frowning unhappily at him, and Wesley sighed, realising his mistake. "Angel, I really *do* care about those we've lost. I'm just having a few problems remembering the, um, souled requirement for delicacy and tact. I'm sorry."

"You're saying that a lot today," Angel pointed out.

Wes grimaced. "Am I in trouble?"

There was a shake of the strong head. "You're trying; I can see that."

Wesley rubbed at the corners of his eyes. He rather thought that Angel was trying hard too and deserved some reward. He'd have to think of something. A small internal voice reminded him that he would be rewarding his abuser and rapist, but Wes was already very tired of that voice. He was, if nothing else, a pragmatist. This was a different world from the one he'd inhabited as a human, with different rules, and it was utterly pointless trying to apply the old rules set to the new paradigm.

Angel passed something across to him. "Here, maybe these'd help?" It was Wesley's glasses.

"Oh." He was somewhat surprised. "I don't think I need these anymore. Do you want me to wear them?"

"Nah," Angel said flatly, but Wes thought the other vampire seemed disappointed. Looking carefully at Angel, Wesley very deliberately put the glasses on. His visual acuity immediately dropped several notches, but Angel rewarded Wesley with one of his rare grins. Wes felt full and warm, and he grinned back.

Determining to keep the specs on, at least while Angel was around to see them, Wes offered, "Thank you for taking care of my needs." He opened a book to begin the researching process, and so didn't see Angel's reaction to the words, but his sire's voice was gentle when he spoke.

"Help yourself to more blood when you need it. I want you healed up."

"So do I," Wes smirked, looking down to obscure the expression. "I have things to look forward to. If I'm good."

The was a definite smile in Angel's voice when he emphasised, "*If.*"

There was about five minute's silence as the pair continued to search through the chosen volumes. The only noise was the occasional turn of pages. Then Wes softly murmured, "I want to please you," and he thought that just maybe his vampire hearing caught the tiniest of whimpers from his sire. Perhaps he had, and perhaps it was just hopeful imagination, but the thought that maybe he could get Angel to whimper was enough to make Wesley instantly hard.

"Get on with your work, boy." And yes, there was a roughness in Angel's voice that Wes was already beginning to associate with arousal. With his head bent low over his book, Wes allowed himself a moment of glee.

"Yes, sir."

Wesley did what he was told, and despite his desire, he found himself getting as deeply involved in the search for answers as he always did. That much about him hadn't changed then. Knowledge was still an endless well of fascination. Books were still doorways into lands where time stood still and information flowed into his brain's highways and byways, simultaneously soothing and stimulating.

Wes quickly discarded the idea of demons or spirits with innate and unwitting powers influencing them, as the only creatures he could discover -- that could induce the kind of psychosis they had fallen into -- would have been hard to miss. And even if Angel and he had somehow forgotten the presence of such a being, there would be clear residues left behind.

It was going to be difficult to research spells, as there really was little that couldn't be done with magic if the practitioner was powerful or unscrupulous enough, so Wes decided to leave that category until last. Angel was busy with Whitaker's and possession, so that left toxins and drugs. Wes reached for the AI copy of A Witch's Biochemical Guide to Toxicology, a thorough and strangely cynical exploration of just about every poison known to man and demon.

He was just turning the page from the chapter on mycotoxins, which he'd had such high hopes for but had turned out to be full of no-cigar matches, when Angel broke the studious silence with a question.

"How are you feeling?"

Wes blinked, returning slowly from the world of spore powders and fungi brews. "Fine. I'm fine. Is there something you need? Something you'd like me to be doing?"

Angel looked as if he could answer that in many ways, but to Wesley's disappointment, Angel chose only to say, "What you're already doing is good. Just wanted to make sure that you're, you know, fine."

Wes tried hard not to chuckle as he confirmed again, "I'm fine." It was rather gratifying that someone cared how he was. Especially as that someone was Angel. "Are you *sure* there's nothing else you want?"

"Wes..." Angel warned, but there was still good humour in his eyes. Wesley decided not to push the matter, however, and got back to his work.

It was getting easier to act the way Angel wanted. It wasn't that Wesley's demonic needs were less strong now, although obviously the blood craving was currently greatly diminished, and it wasn't that Wes had suddenly grown a new conscience to remind him how to behave. It was simply that he knew intellectually what Angel wanted, and Wes wanted Angel pleased as that was the route to his own pleasure. Effectively, he considered, Angel had become a form of soul-in-situ for the vampire he had made.

There was something both ironic and bizarrely romantic about that. Romantic in the older sense of course. There was nothing Hallmark about the relationship he had with his sire.

Moving speedily through the chapter on animal kingdom venom and secretions, as it didn't seem to hold anything useful, Wes found himself perusing recreational drugs and in particular the entry on Phencyclidine -- Angel Dust. The symptoms they'd shown *could* be explained by significant PCP ingestion, but the trouble was that the reaction to the drug was variable, and Wes rather got the impression that the end result had been desired and therefore something not to risk on an unreliable agent. Still, it was very close.

Following a hunch, he turned to the computer and typed in a search to a private database he'd paid a small fortune to have access to a few months prior. He watched as the results filled the screen and then clicked on a link. He read the page that appeared carefully twice and then said slowly, "I think I've found it. Known unimaginatively as 'Natural Born Killer', it's a mix of phencyclidine, certain herbs, and a magical curse. It fits what happened to us exactly."

Angel's voice was rich with relief as he closed the Whitaker's. "Good job, Wes. Knew I could count on you to figure it out."

"We mustn't be hasty," Wesley warned. "I need to prove it, but if this is it, you were correct about the champagne. I need the glasses we drank from to analyse the residue."

"Oh." Angel winced. "They all got broken, and I threw out the pieces when I... cleaned up. Maybe I could find them? Or we still have the bottle..." He stood, clearly offering to fetch the evidence for Wesley.

"The bottle may be useful; it depends at what point the toxin was added." Angel left the room, and Wes went to the cupboard to remove the microscope. Having been very careful since the encounter with Billy Blim, he slipped his hands into thin latex gloves from a box of disposables. He prepared a slide, and when Angel returned with the magnum bottle, Wes used a pipette to transfer a drop of the dregs to the glass.

"Can I read?" Angel asked, indicating the computer.

"Of course," Wes answered, as he added a drop of a disclosing agent. "Please don't move from that page however. I need to compare results." He bent to view the slide through the eyepiece.

"I'll look later. When will you know for sure?"

"In less than half an hour I will know if the toxin was in the bottle." There was a pause and then Wes said cautiously, "Angel...?" as he looked up.

His sire, who was leaning against the edge of the desk he had previously been sitting at, responded with a curious look and, "Yeah?"

"I know it doesn't mean... I mean..." Wes sighed. He couldn't work out a way to delicately say what he wanted to express. "I need to be able to talk bluntly about this." Angel nodded, granting permission, so Wes continued. "Even if we hadn't killed each other, we would all have died. This toxin mix would invariably be fatal to humans."

Angel turned away, and Wes had no idea what the other vampire was feeling. He kept quiet and went back to looking into the microscope, allowing Angel some recovery time. But Angel interrupted. "So the aim was to kill us all and make us suffer first? Jump to their strings?"

"It would seem that way. Well, no death for you; not for a vampire. But the rest of us, yes. If this is indeed what we were poisoned with, as seems likely."

"I'll kill whoever did this."

"Yes." Wesley kept his thoughts private. It had been Lilah who had brought the champagne and served it. She had drunk it herself, toasting Wes with a sultry smile meant only for him. None of this made much sense at all, but Wesley was sure that Lilah had been neither suicidal nor desirous of his death, regardless of how she had felt about the others.

Angel was studying him, a hard look on his face. Alarmed, Wes asked, "What is it?"

"You're right."

"About what?"

"You *are* going to hate me for what I've done. When you're souled again."

Wesley badly wanted to deny this, but couldn't. "You could leave me as I am..." he suggested quietly, looking down.

In two strides, Angel was in front of him, taking up his whole field of vision. Unable to stop the reaction, Wes cowered away. Thick-fingered hands grabbed his face to either side and pulled him roughly around to look Angel in the eye. "I never want you to say that again. You hear me?"

"I hear... heard. I'm sorry."

"Christ, you say that so much now. Why couldn't you ever say those words when you were alive, Wes?"

"I... I cared more then."

Obviously disgusted, Angel shoved Wes aside, and he fell against his desk, just catching the microscope before it toppled. He looked miserably at his sire's back, and even though he knew how childish his words would sound, Wesley murmured, "I don't want to hate you."

Angel whirled around. Wes studied his shoes as Angel asked in a low voice, "Even after yesterday?"

Still looking down, Wes said in an even quieter murmur, "*Especially* after yesterday."

There was a groan, then Angel was back in Wesley's personal space, but this time he was holding Wes to him and kissing him hard. Wes initially just let it happen, too surprised to respond, but then kissed back with almost equal vigour, rubbing his growing erection against that of Angel's.

When Wes found himself released, he was yearningly hard and dizzy with desire. And Angel? Wesley had never seen him looking quite so... urgent. It fuelled his own need exponentially. "Please..." he breathed. "I'm healed, I promise."

To Wesley's utter disbelief, Angel shook his head. "We will. Today, we will. Trust me. It's just... there are things we have to do first."

Wes felt like weeping in his frustration. He complained sullenly, "Well-fed and well-fucked, you said."

"Don't push it, boy. I know what I said. You'll be both of those things, unless you keep pissing me off. So get on with your work."

Closing his eyes briefly and trying hard to relax, Wes went back to the microscope. Angel sat down at the other desk and lifted the telephone receiver.

"Calling anywhere interesting?" Wes asked in an attempt at a casual tone.

There was silence, and Wesley looked up. Once Angel had locked gazes with him, he answered simply, "Sunnydale."

***

It took Angel a good five minutes to steel himself enough to be able to dial Buffy's number. As he listened to it ring at the other end, he wondered if Buffy or Dawn would answer, and how he'd explain to them why he needed to get Willow's number. It then occurred to him that he should have spent those five minutes figuring out what he was going to say.

The phone rang three times and then a familiar voice said, "Hello, Summers' residence."

"Willow." Angel breathed a sigh of surprised relief. "I thought you were in England."

"Angel? Is that you? And I was, but I'm back."

"Yeah, it's me."

"You're not evil again, are you?" Willow asked immediately, sounding suspicious.

"Um... not exactly." Angel hadn't thought he'd be having this bit of the conversation so soon, and his ability to think on his feet wasn't one of his better talents.

Willow was already continuing, "Although I guess if you *were* evil, you wouldn't admit it, so that's probably one of those questions that works out better in my head than... okay. So you're not evil."

"I'm not evil," Angel said. "Why does everyone always think I'm evil?"

"Hey, I was just asking," Willow said. "And it isn't like I'm not intimately acquainted with the downfalls of being evil too. But I'm glad you're not. Evil, I mean. Because that's the last thing we need, on top of everything else."

"What everything else?"

Willow sighed, and Angel could almost picture her tucking her hair back behind her ear. "The First is back."

"What! Since when?" Just hearing the name sent a bolt of fear through him -- he'd never forget what it had been like, being haunted by the faces of those he'd killed. Angel looked up and caught Wesley giving him a mild look of concern, and he tried to smile a little bit.

"Since... well, we don't know that exactly," Willow told him. "But it's here, and it brought some friends. Bringers, the whole nine yards. A whole golf-course full of evil."

"What does it want?" Angel asked. "Other than to wreak havoc?"

"The Bringers are going after the potential Slayers. They've been arriving from everywhere -- China, South American... Giles brought a few from England. They're all coming here."

"The Bringers?"

"Well, them too, but no -- the potential Slayers. You know, the ones that might... if anything happened to Buffy."

"Or Faith," Angel pointed out, while trying to avoid thinking about either of the Slayers being dead. "Why there? And why Giles? I mean, I know he's a Watcher -- or used to be -- but what about the rest of them?"

Willow said, "Well, actually, the rest of the Watchers... they sort of went kaplooey. The ones that weren't killed by the Bringers, I mean."

"They went what?" Angel felt like Willow was running around him in circles.

"Somebody blew up their headquarters and... well, let's just say that Watchers don't do a very good job of training potential Slayers when they're in little teensie pieces."

"Oh. Okay, that's... not good." All of the Watchers, dead? That meant Wesley and Giles were the only ones left, and Wesley was... again, watching him. Again with the concern. Angel ran over what he'd just said aloud to see if Wes would have been able to figure out what was going on, and decided no. He hoped.

"Still with that talent for understatement, I see," Willow said.

"So a bunch of potential Slayers are in Sunnydale?" Angel wondered how it made sense for them to come to the place where the thing was that was trying to kill them was, if they couldn't protect themselves.

"In Sunnydale? Heck, they're all here at the *house.* And let me tell you, fifteen girls in a house with only two bathrooms? Not a pretty sight."

"I can..." Okay, no, he couldn't imagine. He didn't *want* to imagine. "So how's, um... everyone?"

"Buffy's okay, Angel. There's nothing wrong with you asking about her. She's, you know, busy. She's trying to train all these girls and... well. She's busy. How are things there?"

Oh, God. "Well, actually... that's why I'm calling. I... have some bad news." Angel closed his eyes and forged ahead, and his voice broke as he said, "Cordelia's dead." He opened his eyes, and Wesley was giving him a look of sympathy, which was a little more than Angel could take just then. He turned slightly away from Wes.

"Oh," Willow said, and he could hear the sorrow in her voice too. "Oh, no, Angel, I'm so sorry. How...?"

"That's the hardest part. It was... I don't know if it was Angelus, exactly. But something... we're still trying to figure it out. We all went... crazy. Some kind of killing lust. Everyone's dead." He couldn't list their names individually -- it was too hard, too much to deal with. Saying Cordelia's name had been hard enough. "And... Wesley..."

"Wesley too?" Willow sounded shocked. Which was fair enough under the circumstances. "And Gunn? And that nice girl, Fred, that you rescued from that other dimension? Everyone?"

"Not exactly," Angel repeated, unable to stop himself from turning to look at Wes again as he spoke. Their eyes locked just as he said, "I... I turned Wesley. He's a vampire."

"Oh my... Angel! How could you do that?"

"I didn't know what else to do." He sounded desperate, he knew, but he wanted to get across to her the fact that he knew he might have made a mistake. "He was dying... and everyone else was dead, and I thought... I thought... I needed him."

"It must have been awful." Willow's voice was full of sympathy, sympathy that covered up the shock and warmed him. "Were you still all evilish when it happened?"

Boy, wouldn't that have been nice, to be able to blame it on Angelus. "No. No, I was me. I knew what I was doing... at least, I thought I did."

"So you want me to do the spell? The re-souling spell. Right?"

Angel blinked in surprise, and then mentally kicked himself for not realizing that *of course* Willow would be able to figure out why he'd called. She was smart. Of course she'd know. "Um, yeah. He's... I haven't let him do anything. Not anything that he'll, you know, have to feel bad about. Well, there was this one guy, but he... yeah. Anyway. The spell would be great." He tried to sound as humble and grateful as possible. It wasn't hard.

"This isn't exactly a good time," Willow said. "I can't... I want to help, Angel, honest I do. But there's no way I can take time out from the girls and everything here to deal with it. I mean, first I'd have to find a Thesulan Orb, and believe me that's not going to be easy. And... I just can't leave Sunnydale."

"What if I found one?" Angel asked, desperately. "What if I got one and brought it there to you? Then could you do it?"

Willow didn't respond for a few seconds, and then Angel could practically hear her nodding into the phone. "Yeah. If you can get the orb, and bring it and Wesley here, then... oh."

"What, oh?"

"Um, nothing!" Willow said brightly, falsely.

"Willow. What is it?"

"Well... Spike's here. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. Figured he was still there, sniffing around Buffy. He's always had a thing for Slayers." Angel refused to listen to the little niggling voice in the back of his head that suggested that maybe Spike's feelings were a bit more complicated than that.

"He... Angel, he has a soul."

Good thing he didn't need to breathe. "He has a... okay, I don't think I got that. Say it again?"

"Spike has a soul. Last summer, he went to Africa, or somewhere, to some... guy, I guess. And he went through some trials or something, and he got his soul back."

Angel needed more than a minute to adjust to the fact that not only was he no longer going to be the only souled vampire, but that it was apparently some kind of trend. "Why?"

"I think..." Willow hesitated. "I don't know," she said. "You'd have to ask him."

"Yeah. I'll do that." Angel scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to come to terms with this new information, trying to get himself back on track. "Right. So I get the orb, and you'll do the spell?"

"Sure will. You got the components, I've got the mojo." Willow's confidence seemed slightly forced. "And you know, Angel... I did some looking into the whole happiness clause thing -- and, well, you know I'm a lot more powerful now. And spells, they're kind of like... cooking. Take out one ingredient, substitute something else. The clause doesn't need to be about happiness; it could be about, I don't know, something unimportant. Like... like a food allergy, since we're going with the whole kitchen analogy. And you vampire types don't need to eat food anyway, so not like it's going to be a big hardship if the clause says no peanut butter, right?"

"Um... right?"

"So if I can leave it out... the happiness part of it... you'd want me to do that?"

Not even needing to think about the answer, Angel said automatically, "Yeah. S'gonna be hard enough on him, without him worrying about something like that."

"And... that means I might -- and I say *might* because I'm not sure, so don't get your hopes up -- be able to take yours off too." Willow sounded like she knew this was something hard to talk about.

"That's... I'll have to think about that," Angel told her. His initial instinct was to say no, but he didn't have to look any further than the newly-vamped Wesley to know that his initial instincts weren't always, necessarily, the right ones.

"Okay. Well, unless anything, you know, end-of-the-world-y happens, I'll be here." Willow paused, and then said, "Angel?"

"Yeah?"

"It'll be okay. You did the best you could."

Too bad that was never enough, Angel thought, but all he said was, "Thanks, Willow. I'll call you." He hung up the phone slowly.

After a minute or so of silence, Wesley offered, tentatively, "It sounds as if that conversation was a bit more than you'd bargained for."

Angel nodded and rubbed his temples. "Yeah, that'd be one way of putting it."

"If you'd..." Wesley hesitated.

"Wes," Angel told him impatiently, "Respect doesn't mean silence. You have something to say, just say it."

"All right. I was going to say that if you'd like to talk about it, well... I'm more than willing to listen. In fact, if we're going to be together for a long time, I'd like to think we'd be able to talk about things." Wesley's expression was mild, but he wasn't able to completely hide his curiosity.

"Willow can do the spell once we get our hands on an orb," Angel said shortly. "That's all you need to know."

"Fine," Wes said, and gestured at the champagne bottle on the desk. "Well, since I'm more than willing to share with *you,* it would seem the champagne is our culprit."

Angel went over and picked up the bottle, turning it in his hands. It seemed wrong that such a comparatively fragile object had contained something that had caused so many deaths. "Lilah?"

"No. It couldn't have been. Why would she...?" Wes seemed to be holding something back -- probably distress over Lilah's murder, as well as the fact that they were considering the possibility that she might have had something to do with what had caused it.

"Well, she's the one who brought the bottle. But you're right, seems weird that she'd do something like that. If nothing else, she'd have know that she was putting herself in danger." Angel thought back carefully; he was almost sure she'd had some of the champagne too, although he hadn't been paying real close attention.

Wesley stood up and took the bottle from Angel's hands; gently, but until he did, Angel hadn't even realized how tightly he was clutching the glass. "Someone else must have doctored it," Wes said. "The questions are who and why?"

"For us to all kill each other?" Angel suggested, unclenching his fists.

"Until you were the only man left standing," Wesley said. "And then possibly to take advantage of your emotional state in the aftermath?" He dropped his eyes to the desk and put the champagne bottle back down. "You regret turning me," he said quietly.

Surprised, Angel could only look at him for a minute. "Yeah," he said finally. "And no. I'm sorry I had to -- I wish none of this had happened. And every time I look at you, I'm gonna *remember* what happened."

"I'm a constant reminder," Wes said, his tone bitter.

Angel thought that, for once, he understood what was going on inside Wes' head. "Of *my* failures," he said. "Not... not anything to do with you."

"No, of course not. I'm just a walking advertisement for your mistakes. That shouldn't bother me at all." Wes looked as distressed as he sounded, his posture lined with tension.

"Wes..." Angel said, frustrated. "*Wesley.* Is this because I didn't want to talk about what Willow told me?"

Shaking his head, Wesley closed a book on the desk and shuffled some papers into a neat stack. "No, regardless of what you might choose to believe, I'm not that manipulative. This is about what we're actually discussing."

"So, what? You want me to say I'm thrilled that I thought I had no choice other than to turn you into something most of me hates being?" Angel was saying more than he wanted to, probably, but it also felt good to get it out. "You want me to say I'm glad that you're walking around as a vampire instead of a human? Because those would be lies, Wesley."

"No, I don't want you to lie to me." Wes' voice was soft again, but it was soft with something other than control. "But it might be nice to think that you prefer having me here at all, in any form."

Angel stared at him. "Well, why the hell else do you think I turned you?"

"Because I was the only one left?" Wesley suggested.

"No, because I needed you." *Because I wanted you* remained unspoken.

"Oh, well, that makes me feel a great deal better. Good to know that I can be of service." Wesley flipped through some of his papers briefly, and then muttered, "Since that's all you want from me."

"Wes." Angel didn't say anything else until Wesley finally stopped and looked up at him, expression wary. And then, he didn't know what to say. "You're... my friend. It wasn't just about wanting to... use you."

"No?"

"*No.*"

Wesley ducked his head, and when he raised it and met Angel's eyes this time he looked a little bit calmer. "All right. That's... good to know."

"Okay." Angel smiled a little bit, but then, realizing that he'd been letting Wes control the conversation in ways he probably shouldn't, took a step around the side of the desk and grabbed onto Wesley's wrist. "I wouldn't," he said carefully, emphasizing each word, "want you to get the idea that you're the one in charge here."

Something flashed behind Wes' eyes. It might have been fear.

"You're upset," Angel continued, before Wes could say anything. "I get that, so I'm going to let your little attempt to manipulate me slide. This time. But I wouldn't want you to think I didn't realize what you were up to."

"I understand," Wes said, nodding slowly. "I... apologize if I was out of line."

"Well, I'm not an unreasonable kind of guy. People get upset, they have a tendency to want answers. You wanted to hear me say I don't just want you because you're good with books? Okay, you got me to say it. Twice, actually." Angel tightened his grip on Wes' wrist to near-breaking force, watching as Wesley struggled not to wince, and then released him. "But I know you're gonna make sure that kind of thing doesn't happen again."

"No, Angel." Wes looked at him steadily. "It won't happen again."


	7. Chapter 7

_Hungry as an archway through which the troops have passed..._

 

"Who was there?" Wesley asked, still absently rubbing his wrist after Angel's most recent display of dominance. His sire was staring fixedly at one of the bloodstains on the office floor, and Wes wondered which body had been found in that spot.

Angel ignored the question and instead said, "I need to move them. The bodies. Get them to the AB. I've put it off too long."

The AB was the Arkwright Behemoth, a huge scavenging demon of limited animal intelligence that lived deep in the tunnels. Angel Investigations, like many other organisations of more dubious intention, had long used the Behemoth as an efficient means of corpse disposal. The corpses weren't normally those of friends however.

Wes nodded seriously. "I'll help."

"No."

Frowning at the bare negation, Wesley demanded, "Why not?"

"Are you questioning me?"

Well, yes. Obviously he was. And obviously he was about to meet with Angel's fists again if he didn't back-pedal fast. Clearly the camaraderie built during today's research session was over. Wes dropped his gaze. "I withdraw my words. I'll investigate suppliers of the toxin, shall I?"

"Yeah, you do that." Angel didn't sound like he cared much; his gaze was still directed at the stain, but Wes doubted Angel was focused on anything actually in this room anymore. After typing some keywords into a search engine, Wesley began to peruse the results. When Angel's voice eventually broke the silence again, it came as a surprise. "Chain yourself up."

Quickly obedient, Wes stood up and fixed one end of the chain and manacle set to the brass gas tap near the bookcase; he encircled his ankle with the broad iron cuff, closing it with a clink. "It needs locking," he pointed out quietly.

Angel stirred himself and came over. Kicking at the gas tap, he said dismissively, "That's not strong enough."

Angel was probably right; Wes didn't really know his own strength yet. He sighed. There was nothing more suitable in the office to use as a tether. "Shall I return to the bedroom?"

"I want you here, working." Angel crouched and quickly locked the manacle with the key Wes had known he was carrying around with him. "It oughta give you a chance to think twice at least." Angel straightened up. "It's simple. You want blood and sex? -- you stay here. You want broken bones -- you run, and make no mistake, I’ll find you. And if you kill anyone -- I'll dust you."

"I... understand." The idea of Angel wanting to dust him hurt Wes no less now than it had the first time it had been suggested.

Angel stared at him for a few moments longer as Wes tried hard to present an impassive face, then he surged forward, kissing Wesley briefly; not long enough even for Wes to respond. Angel turned and walked towards the basement entrance without another word.

Wesley stared after him, feeling more than a little lost. As the door slammed shut, he jumped a little. Listening dully to the noises Angel was making below, he wondered who was being carried away first. He tried to imagine Fred’s body being consumed by the Behemoth and frowned, wondering why his mind was venturing in such places. The thought of Lilah’s bones crunching was even worse -- simultaneously deeply upsetting and fascinating.

Wes sat back down at the desk and rubbed his face, trying to clear his mind ready for more research. The chain pulled tight on his ankle as he shuffled the chair in closer, dragging his leg out to the side. It was… distracting. But then, everything was now.

Such was the curse of predator senses that his perceptions of the world around him were constantly disturbing his concentration. He was used to seeing the world a little blurred around the edges, and letting sounds just fade into the background as he read books or pondered thoughts. And smell had rarely been an issue at all as a human. But everything was different now.

Now a slight breeze through an open window could set his skin tingling and inform his nose of the world outside the hotel, full of life to be taken by force and savoured. Oh god…

Yes, the instinctual demonic needs were worse even than his demanding new senses. He was already starting to feel hungry again, but having drunk the heated blood that Angel had brought in earlier, Wes was now stuck until Angel returned. And beyond the blood hunger was the desire for what Wesley could only describe as high-adrenaline activities -- danger sports for the ethically unconcerned. He craved violence and pain. He wanted the rich aroma of fear in his nostrils again and the feel of a struggling victim below him. He’d had it once, and once wasn’t nearly enough.

He closed his eyes and remembered Charles; the man’s muscular human body no match for Wesley’s new strength. The smell, the taste… oh god, the taste. The racing heartbeat, the muffled whimpers, the rush of hot, still-living blood into his mouth. Wesley moaned deeply and then jerked upright in his chair, his eyes wide open, shocked by the loudness of his own desire in this mortuary-quiet place.

He wasn’t stupid enough to try to escape again. He wasn’t a child, and although it was inarguably harder now, he was perfectly equipped to deal with delayed or deferred gratification. He hoped. He desperately hoped. Wes wanted to stay with Angel; he knew that without a doubt now. Therefore the kind of mayhem he felt urged to generate just couldn’t be permitted, at least not against human prey. Wesley tried to concentrate on less dangerous impulses as his research currently seemed beyond him.

And the ‘safe’ desire would be Angel. Despite agreeing that Wes would work better undistracted, Angel had succeeded only in working Wesley up to a plateau of uneasy arousal and then leaving him to deal with it alone. Wes thought he could still feel each kiss Angel had laid upon him, as if they, rather than the beatings, had left something lasting on him, something visible.

He wanted to feel those hard lips upon his own once more. He wanted to struggle and be unable to free himself from a greater strength when Angel finally was true to his word and buggered Wesley senseless again. He wanted to bleed and scream and break because if he couldn’t do it to a victim then at least he could feel it himself. God, this insistent erection was becoming insufferable; he had to do something about it.

Wesley tugged down his zipper and roughly pulled out his cock.

If Angel wouldn’t give Wes what he’d promised to give, what Wes needed in order to work effectively, it made pragmatic sense that Wesley should take matters into his own hands. Hand. The hand that was dragging up and down his hardened flesh in angry and resentful strokes. Just when was the last time anyone had kept a promise made to him anyway?

He considered, and immediately discarded, the idea of directing his browser page towards something pornographic in nature. It would take too long, and he just wanted this over and done with. And anyway, it seemed unlikely he’d gain much in the way of titillation from the kind of sanitised sites he’d allowed himself to purchase membership for as a human. Not even Lilah had been able to free him of his residual prudishness, but Angel had managed it.

Angel.

Wes closed his eyes and thought again of his sire. He thought about the heavy fists slamming into him, splitting skin and splintering bones, and his own pain and terror as it had happened. He thought about being manhandled, forced into position, made into a helpless victim and given no choice about the violation that followed. He moved his leg so that the chain was tugging on it, his shackled status arousing him further, as he thought about how the thick cock had felt, pistoning inside him on a lubrication of Wesley’s blood…

And even as he thought about these things, and became increasingly aroused doing so, his intellect was asking why and how. How could any creature with natural survival instincts find such things erotic? Why was he lusting after Angel rather than hating the demon that had done this to him? His only answer was that for all his years of training and research into the topic, and for all his intense obsession with Angel, he’d really been appallingly ignorant of the reality of vampire psychology.

Or perhaps this was just him -- who he really was. Perhaps, devoid of a soul, his true nature glowered through, and his father had been right all along. He was nothing but a snivelling snot with no backbone and a desire to be victimised.

No, he wouldn’t accept that. He tightened his hand on his cock, refusing to let himself soften in response to his thoughts. He had strength and will; qualities he’d fought hard to win and nurtured with bitterness and resolution since the Connor disaster. And now more than ever Wes was not a victim; he was a victimiser, reborn into a new and ferocious role. He deliberately stopped thinking about Angel and moved his thoughts back to Charles, the human who would have died in his arms had Angel not interfered.

Wesley’s hand sped up. He imagined death and smiled.

There was a noise from outside the hotel, and the main door opened. Wes quickly did himself up, more concerned in case it was Angel for some reason returning that way, than at the thought of a stranger seeing him like this -- hard and snarling, lost in fond thoughts of blood and terror.

The sound of a woman’s heels clicked across the foyer and for a fraction of a second, Wesley warmed, thinking it was Lilah. Until he remembered that she was Behemoth food now. A matronly woman he vaguely recognised arrived at the counter, but the chain stopped him going to her. He could hear her heartbeat; she was calm and obviously unaware of how much Wesley wanted to eat her. After the fantasies he’d just been indulging in, the woman seemed like a gift from some wicked vampire godmother just for him.

But he knew he couldn’t indulge.

He called out, "Angel Investigations is closed due to… staff shortages. I’m sorry we can’t help."

"Mr Wyndam-Pryce?" she asked, peering myopically over the counter into the office space beyond. "Oh, I’m sorry. Is there illness?"

He remembered her name now June Ruperts. She’d employed them briefly last year when her family had experienced problems with a pack of Romnoth demons. "Yes, illness. So don’t come too close."

As if oblivious to his words, the stupid woman stepped around the counter and walked over towards Wesley. "Oh, you do look pale. Is it the flu?"

Alarmed, Wes held up a hand. "Please don’t come any closer; I’m almost certainly infectious."

"Oh, I’ve had everything that’s going, dear. That’s one of the joys of motherhood." June walked right up to the front of his desk, and he could smell the blood in her. Oh God, he really could. Was she menstruating? Did she have a wound? She looked closely at him. "My, you have been in the wars, haven’t you? I hope you killed whatever demon did that to you."

Obviously he was still showing a lot of the marks of his beating, despite the blood. "Not exactly, but… Please, I really must ask you to come no closer." This was fundamentally unfair. How was he meant to refuse his instincts when the food was served up to him on a platter saying ‘eat me’ with a pearlescent lipstick smile?

The woman paused. "Is it some kind of demonic disease? Oh dear, how awful for you. And everyone has it? Even that nice Mr Angel?"

"He is the source of this infection," Wes said dryly. "Please, I must ask you to leave. It’s not safe for you here. Angel will…"

"Angel will…?"

"Angel will kill me if I… infect you."

"Oh, please don’t worry. I promise won’t tell." She winked at him in a friendly fashion. "Should you really be working if you’re this ill?" Leaning forward, she laid the back of her hand on his forehead.

Shocked at the unexpected contact with warm human flesh ripe for the sucking, Wesley scooted his chair back and away from her. The chain pulled tight with a series of clinks, and June looked down at it in confusion and then consternation.

"Mr Wyndam-Pryce, are you a prisoner here?" she asked in shocked tones. "Oh my God, let me help you."

Bugger! "I’m not a prisoner. Please leave before…" His voice was taking on a desperate tone and June seemed to respond to the tone and not the words.

"I’m going to call the police if you don’t let me help you. You’re black and blue, and in a state of shock if your skin temperature is anything to go by. You’re clearly terrified of something, and you’re chained to your desk."

Again she came forward, and trapped on the limit of his chain, Wesley couldn’t escape. Her blood called out to him, begging him to release it from the prison of skin and capillaries. He could feel his fangs itching below the surface of his gums. "Go now. Or you will die," he spat out, word by word.

"Where’s the key?" she asked, resolute and brave, for all the definite scent of fear she was now exuding.

"He has it. Leave. You don’t understand." She was right by him, and yes, she had to be menstruating. He could smell the rich aroma wafting like smoke from between her plump, pantyhosed thighs. Quite without volition, Wesley leant forward and placed his hands upon her hips, drawing her closer and nuzzling his face into the area of her full skirt that covered her groin.

Her hand rested in his hair, soothing him as if her were upset. And indeed, he was sobbing dryly, as he knew Angel would dust him for this. June tried gently to free herself. "You poor thing, it must have been awful for you. We’re going to get you out of here. Was it Mr Angel that did this to you?"

"Yes," Wesley admitted, tightening his grasp. "But it’s too late now, don’t you see?" He looked up at June and watched her expression as his face changed. The rumble and crack of bones resounded in his skull as his brow ridges grew, and he snarled as his fangs protruded into the air.

June screamed.

Pulling her down to her knees beside him, Wesley curled an arm around her head, placing his hand firmly over her mouth. "Hush now. You have only yourself to blame here. I lost count of the number of times I told you, begged you even, to leave."

Her frightened eyes stared at him above his hand, as her own clawed and slapped, struggling pointlessly to remove it. He supposed he was suffocating her; ah well, it would make her more pliable. Her heart was racing, and it made something inside him want to dance to its frantic beat.

There was a noise from below in the basement. Angel was back for another body or bodies. Wesley shook June hard. "Stay still," he hissed. "Or I’ll break your neck." She froze obligingly, delicious fear soaking through her pores. He freed her nose so she could breathe.

Wesley listened carefully to Angel moving about beneath them. June wasn’t the only one afraid. "In a minute," he whispered. "I’m going to release you, and you are going to leave immediately without looking back. You will tell no one what you have seen here, and you will never return. Do you understand?"

She nodded as eagerly as his fierce grip would allow.

He couldn’t quite believe he was doing this. He could just wait for Angel to leave once more, eat the woman, break the gas pipe, and leave in the SUV, never to be seen again. He could find some town to settle in far from champions and Slayers and enjoy the local populace one by one. Instead, he was refusing this perfect delicacy and resigning himself to a mono-diet of dead pig’s blood in the vain hope that he might get what he wanted from Angel one day.

Whatever that was.

The woman smelled so sweet. Wesley listened to Angel leave again and then slipped his free hand between her legs, breaking through her pantyhose. She stiffened as he invaded her, and then he let her go. "Leave. Now. Never come back."

She stared at him with the huge eyes of a prey animal as he sucked his fingers clean. Then she turned and sprinted for the door, tripping once on her unwise heels, but getting straight back up and never once looking back.

Shaking, Wesley pulled his chair back to his desk. He supposed that in a way he’d passed some oblique and unfair test, but he actually felt like he’d failed -- failed even to make it as an evil predator. There was no limit to the things he couldn’t succeed at it seemed. And like every other failure of his for the past three years, it was all due to Angel, and Wesley’s longing for something he doubted his sire was capable of giving even if he wanted to.

Whatever that was. He really needed to decide that.

June Ruperts would almost certainly call the police or some other authority, Wes realised. Which meant he had to confess to Angel what he’d done before the trouble arrived. Which meant another beating, but perhaps one not quite as severe as yesterday’s, and it could possibly end in violent sex again so all was not quite lost. But despite trying to cheer himself up with that thought, Wesley remained depressed.

Having nothing better to do, he began his research tasks. The search for the suppliers of the ‘Natural Born Killer’ toxin quickly proved to be a waste of time. While only a couple of places listed it for mail order, it would be easy enough to create from its component parts by anyone with the appropriate knowledge and power.

However, his search for the supplier of the particular champagne that had been used as the toxin’s carrier was a lot more successful. It seemed that only one retailer in the whole of Los Angeles imported this particular rare vintage, and that was the West Side Winery on Santa Monica.

As he searched for more information on the proprietors, Wes found himself becoming more and more unhappy. He wished Angel would hurry up and finish his grisly task and return to administer punishment; get it over and done with. Angel had trusted him by going out today, and yet again, he’d failed to live up to that trust.

Not even having his soul replaced by a rapacious demon was enough to save him from himself.

***

Angel sighed as he came back upstairs. He was covered with filth of various kinds, and the stench that came from his clothes was beyond disgusting. There were definite drawbacks to having a vampire's sense of smell.

He shut the basement door and glanced into the office -- Wesley was still, apparently, hard at work at the desk. Angel couldn't deny the surge of relief that he felt at seeing Wesley where he'd left him, but there was no point in exposing Wes to the stink of the sewers. Angel would come back down and check on him after he'd washed up.

A long hot shower was just what he'd needed, washing away the dirt and grime of the tunnels even if it couldn't wash away his despair. Angel closed his eyes and let the steaming water run over his face, tasted the droplets on his tongue.

Angel stayed in the shower much longer than he really needed to and took his time about getting dressed, tossing the clothes he'd shed earlier in a corner for disposal later. He never wanted to wear them again; they'd always remind him of what it had been like to take his friends' bodies for disposal, of the utter bleak feeling that had accompanied throwing them to the AB.

Slowly, he went back downstairs.

Wesley looked up at him as he entered the office, and the expression on Wes' face -- fear mingled with something darker -- stopped Angel in his tracks, knocking him out of his funk in a fraction of an instant. "What happened?"

There was a long pause, then Wesley said, "There was... an incident."

Angel moved closer, slowly, and Wes cringed. Just a little bit, but enough to make it clear that he was expecting punishment. Angel spoke slowly and calmly. "Wes. Tell me what happened."

Wesley nodded. His glasses, Angel noted, were back on the desk, off to one side like he hadn't been using them.

"It was a client," Wesley said, keeping his eyes downcast now that he'd started to tell the story. "June Ruperts. She came in. I urged her to leave, but she wouldn't listen."

"You told her to go?" Angel was surprised.

Wesley nodded slightly. "Several times. She insisted on coming in despite my warnings that I was ill and that I might pass the sickness on to her. She..." He swallowed, then continued in a softer voice, "She touched me."

Angel took a step closer. "Then what happened?"

"She was..." Wes' eyes met his own again. "Bleeding. Menstruating. The scent of it was like an aura around her, and I was so hungry. I wanted to kill her."

"But you didn't." Angel knew that, since Wes was still chained and there was no sign of a body. "You let her go?"

Wes shook his head, then nodded, his expression one of confusion. "She saw that I was chained, and assumed that I was being held prisoner here against my will. She said that she'd call the police, and I -- I grabbed onto her. I threatened to kill her if she didn't leave at once and speak to no one of what she'd seen."

Angel was relieved. "So she left."

"Not before I..." Wesley hesitated and looked down at the desk again. "I assaulted her," he said. Angel knew that it wasn't guilt he was seeing on Wes' face, no matter how much he might have liked to believe otherwise. "I... tasted her."

"You -- oh." Angel nodded, pretty sure he could read between the lines there. "Yeah. But you didn't hurt her?"

"No. Not physically, at least. Of course she was terrified, once she finally realized that she was in danger." Wesley still looked nervous of Angel's reaction, but he also looked slightly proud, as if he liked the idea of having scared the woman. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Angel said, moving closer and noting as Wes flinched. "Hey? Wes? You think I'd tell you it was okay if I really meant I was pissed off?"

Wesley looked conflicted. "No," he said finally. "No. I don't think you'd do that."

"What would I do? If I was pissed off, I mean?" He was hoping to coax Wes' intellect to respond, to take over from the fear response that was what he was seeing.

"I suppose," Wes said, "you'd have already begun to punish me. Or..."

"Yeah?"

"Or you'd be asking me questions like this, but making it clear that I was to describe to you why I needed punishing."

Angel nodded. "Why do you think you need punishing? And no, I'm not getting ready to do it. I'd tell you if I was."

Wes' expression was one of confusion, like he was being asked to explain why the sky was blue. "Because I wanted to eat that woman. For all I know, if I hadn't been chained, I might have done so."

Angel looked at the manacle, at the way Wesley was chained, at the pipe. "You know," he said, "that if you'd really wanted to get your fangs on her, you would have been able to. The instinct to feed, that's a strong one, especially in the early days."

He went over and knelt at Wes' feet so that he could examine his ankle.

"I don't see any cuts or bruising," he announced. "If the chain had been what stopped you, there'd be some sign of that, don't you think?"

"You're... not angry with me," Wesley ventured.

"No," Angel said, looking up at him. Truth be told, he was pleased that Wes had managed to fight his instincts. "Could have been much worse."

"I thought you'd be angry." Wes sounded surprised.

"Yeah, I'm getting that." Angel shook his head slightly. "It wasn't your fault that she wandered in here. You did the best you could, considering."

"But I -- "

Angel interrupted him before he could get any further. "Wesley. Relax. I'm not mad; you did good."

Wesley nodded slowly, watching as Angel unlocked the manacle. "I'm glad that you're pleased."

Wes wanting to please him -- now *that* was the kind of thing Angel liked to hear about, even as he tried to remind himself that this wasn't really Wes. He set the manacle aside and got up, tucking the key back into his pocket in case they needed it later. Pulling Wesley to him, he said, "I am. Pleased, I mean."

Wes' arms came around Angel's waist eagerly. "You could show me how pleased you are. Reward me for good behavior, as it were."

"Would you like that?" Angel slid his hand up into Wes' hair and pulled his head back, kissing him roughly, but not without affection. He knew that Wes was just trying to get the things he wanted -- no surprise there -- and in this instance, Angel didn't mind being manipulated a little bit, since Wes really *did* deserve a reward.

By the time Angel broke the kiss, Wesley was panting and rubbing himself against Angel's body. "Please," he said, eyes lowered.

Angel couldn't deny that he wanted him, but if they were going to do this again it was going to be different this time, as much for his own sake as for Wesley's. Okay, maybe more for his own sake than for Wes'. He could control himself, make this good for both of them. "You want me to fuck you?"

Wes' eyes flashed up to meet his own, a flicker of gold so fast he'd almost have doubted it was there. "Yes. I've been good, haven't I?"

"You have," Angel confirmed. "You've been very good." He looked at Wes thoughtfully, considering his options. "Upstairs," he decided. Last time had been about immediacy -- this time they could take it slower.

Wesley followed him obediently, eagerly, to his suite. Angel led the way into the bedroom and stood waiting.

"What would you like me to do?" Wes asked.

"Take off your clothes, and then mine."

Angel stayed still as Wes undressed quickly and then came over and started to unbutton his shirt. He could feel the hesitancy in Wes' fingers, just a slight tremble that he thought was about nervousness and excitement both. He sighed with pleasure as Wes leaned in and mouthed his chest, tongue and teeth busy teasing his nipples, one and then the other.

Wes' hand moved down to cup Angel's erection through his slacks, and Angel gave a small groan of approval as Wesley unfastened the button and zipper. "Good," he said. "That's it. I want your mouth on me. Show me how much you want it."

Wesley nodded, and within a few seconds Angel's slacks were down around his ankles as Wes put his mouth around Angel's cock.

"Yeah," Angel said encouragingly. "Good boy."

Wes' tongue traced Angel's cock while one hand came up to hold it steady, and Angel felt his balls tighten in response. Someone had obviously spent some time teaching Wesley how to do this, and Angel couldn't say that he was upset to be the recipient.

Still, there was something missing. Wes knew what to do with his tongue, and had enough sense to have grasped that there wasn't anything wrong with using his teeth. But somehow...

Oh, of course.

"*Good* boy," Angel repeated, and then said, "You don't have to breathe anymore, Wes. That means you can take me in deep, into your throat, swallow around me and... *oh* yeah." He felt a little thrill that Wes was such a quick learner, and couldn't suppress a moan when Wes took the initiative and gave his balls a sharp tug.

Wes clearly knew just what he was doing, and it didn't take him more than half a minute or so to learn the proper technique. Tongue, teeth and throat combined to create an experience that was damned near transcendental.

It had been a long time, and Angel had to close his eyes and try to will himself into a calmer state. He wanted to make this good for Wes, give him what he needed without acting like an animal. Wasn't that the whole reason he had the soul?

But instinct roared within Angel, urging him to hold Wes' head in his hands and fuck his mouth, hard and rough, taking what he wanted without care. Hoping it would help him retain control, Angel opened his eyes again and watched as his cock slid between those smooth lips into that slick mouth. "Yeah," Angel sighed. "Just like that."

Wesley's eyes flickered up to meet his own, and Angel thought he might have seen some kind of pride there.

"You want me to fuck you?" he asked.

Wes nodded without stopping what he was doing, the motion causing Angel's cock to glance off his back teeth.

Angel hissed in pleasure and pulled Wes to his feet. "Tell me."

"I want you to fuck me, Angel." Wes' hands were on Angel's spit-slick cock, one pulling at him while the other cupped his balls and squeezed, then released. He brought his mouth closer to Angel's, obviously wanting to be kissed.

Obligingly, Angel kissed him, drew him closer and felt Wes' own persistent erection poking against his thigh. Wesley's mouth moved on his own devouringly, seeking more force, more pressure... just more.

"I'll do what you tell me to do," Wesley said. "Everything you tell me to do."

Angel grinned and raked his teeth across the sensitive skin of Wes' throat. "You'll do that anyway," he said. "Whether I fuck you or not."

Wes gasped and nodded, his hands still gripping Angel's now-aching cock. "You're right, I will. But I thought you'd decided to reward me? Have you changed your mind?" His hips were thrusting forward, and Angel could feel the dampness that the head of Wes' cock was leaving against his thigh.

"Nah," Angel said. "Just wanted to make sure you remembered what the score was."

"I haven't forgotten," Wesley said, pushing himself against Angel, writhing, clearly unable to stop himself.

"Good." God, there was a part of Angel that wanted to hit Wes, to throw him across the room. That wanted the scent of his blood in the air while he fucked him. That wanted Wes to struggle and fight it, even though deep down he really wanted it.

Angel wanted to hurt Wes. He didn't know if it was demon calling to demon -- Angelus recognizing the creature within Wesley, or just his own sick fantasy.

Either way, he wasn't going to let it happen.

"Lie down on the bed," Angel told Wesley.

Wes moved to obey immediately, his eyes on Angel the whole time.

Angel went over and sat down on the edge of the bed, circling his hand around Wes' cock gently. Wes moaned and shoved himself into Angel's grip helplessly. "I'm sorry," he gasped. "I can't -- if you don't want me to -- "

"It's okay," Angel told him, and bent to take Wesley's cock into his mouth.

A long time since he'd done this too, but it wasn't something you forgot how to do, apparently. Wes' hands were tangled in his hair, holding him in place, but Angel wasn't angry about it because Wes was obviously out of his mind with need. The cock in his mouth was smooth and hard, and the taste was something that he remembered as well. Wesley was thrusting upward, hips jerking frantically, low rhythmic cries in the back of his throat as he fucked Angel's mouth. Seeing and hearing Wes so out of control, at least in this situation, was a major turn-on for Angel, and he felt himself grow even harder as a result.

"Angel," Wes panted, warningly, and Angel had to smile at the thought that even at this point Wesley was trying to be good, to do what he thought Angel would want him to do.

He growled and let Wes fuck him deeper, taking him down into his throat and swallowing hard.

Wes' scream as he came echoed throughout the room, his body arching under Angel's as he shuddered violently.

Angel let Wes' cock slip from his mouth and moved up to kiss Wesley. Wes grabbed onto him and held him, tightly, his tongue searching Angel's mouth for the taste of himself that lingered there.

Grinning, Angel pulled back. "I'm still gonna fuck you," he said.

Wesley kissed him again, teeth-clashingly hard, his cock still semi-erect between them. "Good," he said, and started to get up.

Angel shoved him back onto the mattress. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I was..." Wesley looked confused. "I was going to turn around. So that you could fuck me."

Angel'd been thinking that they'd fuck in the position they were already in -- seemed like the thing to do. Gentler, somehow. He was aware that this line of thinking was only going to get him into trouble -- that Wesley was a *vampire* now, and that gentle didn't need to be part of the equation -- but for some reason he felt a strong urge to stick with it. "I can fuck you like this," he said, thrusting his cock against Wes' belly. "You know... face to face. You don't have to turn around."

Wes nodded, his arms coming back around Angel as he relaxed again. "Whatever you prefer."

Hesitating, Angel ran his teeth over Wesley's throat. "You sure you're up for this? Yesterday was... you know, pretty rough. If you're still healing..."

Wesley was quick to reassure him with hands as well as words. "No, I'm fine. Please, Angel, don't tease me. I want... I *need* you to fuck me."

Angel wanted it enough himself that at this point he wasn't going to argue any further. Still one thing to take care of though, if the point of this was for it to be different than yesterday had been. He shifted his weight and reached for the bedside table drawer, opening it and rifling through it, looking for something, anything... Ah. His fingers closed on a tube of some kind of lotion. Hand cream, maybe. Good enough.

"You want a good fucking?" he asked Wes, as he slicked his fingers and pushed one into Wes' body, nice and slow.

"Please," Wes groaned, rocking his hips upward against Angel's hand.

He added a second finger, stretching Wes, who just groaned again and writhed underneath him. "Tell me," Angel ordered.

"I need you to fuck me, Angel," Wesley said immediately, between gasps of pleasure as he all but fucked himself on Angel's fingers. "Please. I've been good, I'll be good, please..." His eyes were glassy with desire, his gaze locked on Angel's mouth.

"Well, since you ask so nicely and all," Angel said, and removed his fingers and pushed himself into Wes.

Wes bucked his hips to meet him, forcing Angel's cock deeper despite his intention to take this slow and easy. "Harder," Wes begged.

Angel groaned as his body did what Wesley asked without any input from his brain at all. He thrust in forcefully, and Wes slid an inch higher on the bed across the wrinkled sheets. Wes was vise-tight around him, and it was so fucking good that Angel knew he wasn't going to last long. "Yeah," he said, knowing he was losing it and not able to bring himself to care. "This what you need?"

"Yes... Angel..." Wesley's legs were wrapped around him, one heel digging into the small of Angel's back. "More," he said greedily, but then Angel could hear him make an effort to modulate the order into a request. "More, please."

"You like being fucked," Angel said, thrusting in again even more roughly, pulling a moan out of Wes. The moan went right to his own cock like a surge of power. He wanted to hear Wes scream again. "You like having my cock inside you." He shifted his weight onto one arm and spat into the other hand, then wrapped his grip around Wes' straining erection.

Wesley gave a wordless cry of triumph at the contact, his hips pushing up to meet Angel, working himself on Angel's cock at the same time he shoved his own cock into Angel's grasp. "Like you... fucking me," he managed, as Angel speeded up his thrusts. "Need you... oh Angel, *harder*..."

Ramming himself forward with a force that caused Wes to slide toward the head of the bed with every thrust, Angel tightened his hold on Wes' cock. At the same time as he brushed his thumb over the head, he roared into game face and bit down on Wes' exposed throat. The taste of blood washing over his tongue consumed him so completely that he was only dimly aware of Wes' hoarse scream as he came, and in fact was only dimly aware of his own orgasm, despite the fact that it left him shuddering and weak-limbed.

Blinking, Angel licked at the bite mark on Wes' throat slowly, letting his tongue rasp across the skin. "Better?" he asked.

Wes' eyes, when Angel pulled back, were dark and, Angel liked to think, satisfied. "Much," Wesley said, before rocking his hips upward slightly. "We could do it again?"

Angel couldn't totally suppress a chuckle, but he moved away from Wes and lay down on the mattress next to him, one arm draped across Wesley's waist. "We could," he agreed, feeling his eyelids getting heavy. The emotional chaos of the day had taken its toll on him. "In a little while. I need to get some sleep first."

He thought he could feel Wes choke back a protest, but then the younger vampire relaxed, his hand moving over Angel's hip sensuously. "All right," Wes said quietly. "Whatever you say, Angel."


	8. Chapter 8

_I stand in ruins behind you, with your winter clothes, your broken sandal straps..._

 

"So you're sure this is the place?" Angel asked, as they walked through the sewer tunnels toward Santa Monica. He was feeling calm and twitchy at the same time, wanting to get this over and done with and taken care of. Somehow getting Wes' soul back was taking a back seat to the need to mete out justice, and that wasn't something Angel was sure he wanted to think about.

"Absolutely," Wesley said. "This particular shop is the only one in LA that imports Chateau de Roderer champagne. If the bottle was purchased in the city, it's almost certain that it was here."

As always, Wes learned quickly-- they slipped from the tunnels into the small specialty store without incident, with Wesley cleverly avoiding the sunshine as if he'd been doing it for a hundred years.

Angel blinked as they entered the discreetly-lit store. Richly-stained wooden wine racks lined the walls, with another two rows in the middle of the store, creating a center aisle. The air smelled of fermentation and cork, and very faintly of dust.

A slender woman behind the counter cleared her throat and nodded at them politely. "Is there something I can help you find?"

Wes stepped closer, his frame radiating a tension that Angel knew was only obvious to another vampire. Angel was glad Wes had fed heavily before they'd left the hotel -- otherwise he might not have been able to keep it together. The fact that Angel could see the nervousness on him meant that they'd made the right call.

Wesley slipped his glasses from a pocket and put them on, instantly transforming his face from rogueish into something closer to bookish and intellectual. "Actually, yes. We're looking for a specific brand of champagne and were told that you might carry it? Chateau de Roderer."

The woman pursed her lips. "Oh, how unfortunate. We do carry it usually, but we're sold out just now." She came around from behind the counter and walked away as if she expected them to follow, glancing back over her shoulder at Wesley with a little smile that made Angel feel strangely irritated. She stopped in front of a rack of bottles and pointed at one with a subtle gold label. "This particular brand would make a fine substitute, whether you were looking for yourself or intending to use it as a gift."

Wes looked at it carefully and then shook his head, exchanging a glance with Angel. "No, it was really the Chateau de Roderer that we wanted. We'd heard such good things about it."

Smoothing the front of her very expensive suit jacket, the woman frowned. "I can assure you that this one is its equal in every way. You wouldn't be disappointed."

"Oh no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply..." Wesley gave her an almost-shy looking grin and adjusted his glasses. "No, it was just that we were at a reception, and someone was telling us about how exquisite the Roderer was. They'd received it as a company gift, I believe."

"Well, as I said, bottles of this quality do make excellent gifts. You're sure I couldn't convince you to try the other? I assure you that it's of the highest caliber."

Wesley leaned in a bit closer to her, as if eyeing her name tag. "Look, Miss Wagner... I should be frank. We're not what we seem."

Angel managed to keep himself from shooting Wes a look of horror. He wasn't seriously going to tell her that they were --

"We're private detectives," Wes continued, and Angel sighed as relief rushed over him. "There's been a murder. Multiple murders, in fact, and it's come to the police department's attention that the murder weapon was a bottle of poisoned champagne."

Miss Wagner put a hand to her chest in what seemed like genuine dismay. Angel almost felt sorry for her. "And you're... working for the police?"

"We often work closely with the police department. Side by side, one might say." Wesley gestured at the rack of bottles in front of them. "And I have to tell you that there is some concern that your shop -- that someone working here -- could be a suspect in this investigation."

With a gasp of outrage, Miss Wagner drew herself to her full height -- which actually wasn't that tall. "Our employees are all upstanding citizens," she said haughtily. "I can assure you that no one who has anything to do with this store would ever -- *ever* -- harm another human being."

What about vampires and demons? Angel thought, but kept quiet because Wes seemed to be doing a good job of handling the situation. In fact, all signs of his earlier nervousness and tension had vanished, seemingly forgotten as he threw himself into this role.

"We very much hope that that's the case," Wesley said calmly. "But you'll understand if we need a bit more than your assurances to convince us."

For the first time, the woman seemed uncertain. "What... what do you want to see?"

"Perhaps you could show us how the business works? Do you keep records of purchases made that might help us to track down the individuals who might have bought this particular type of champagne?"

Miss Wagner started back to the sales counter. "We'd only have records of purchases made on account," she said. "If the champagne was paid for with cash, we wouldn't have note of the sale." She pulled a small book out from under the counter and began to flip through it. "Do you have any idea of the time frame?"

Wesley glanced at Angel. "Well, it would be difficult to say for sure. Anything in the past month or so could be a possibility, certainly."

She began to page through carefully. "If it *was* purchased on account, it shouldn't be hard to find. We only sell a case of the Roderer every six months or so - it's not a common sale, as it's quite expensive *and* not well known."

"You never order it specially for a specific customer?" Wes asked.

"We never have, no," Miss Wagner answered absently, continuing to turn pages slowly. "We would if someone requested it, of course, but that's never happened. And I've been managing the store for nearly ten years."

For the first time, Angel asked a question. "So if hardly anyone wants it, why do you keep it in stock?"

She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, something sincere and quiet in them that hadn't been there before. "Because some things are worth it, even if not many people are able to recognize it."

Angel nodded, and Miss Wagner went back to her search while they stood there patiently. Angel was struck with a sudden memory of another wine shop, more than a century ago. The lighting had been similar, but for different reasons, and vaguely Angel thought that the language spoken hadn't been English. Not that it would have mattered much, since the begging voice of the man behind the counter had descended into babbling and then whimpers, as Dru had played with him. He and Spike had taken turns drinking from an assortment of bottles and encouraging Dru to have fun.

Firmly, Angel told himself he didn't miss those days at all.

His eyes passed slowly over the bottles of wine, the labels, some of them dustier than others. Spike had always been so hard to tame -- there had been times when he'd been convinced he'd managed to do it, but they'd always been short-lived. Not that it had really mattered, since without the soul he'd reveled in the beatings, the pain, the blood... The sex. Spike had been so fucking *stubborn,* and at the same time so responsive. It had driven Angel crazy.

Just like last night. Fuck, Wesley was just as responsive as Spike had ever been, wanted it just as much -- maybe more so. The way Wes acted, his desperation, all added together to bring Angel right to the point where he snapped. Where no matter how hard he tried to be gentle, he found it impossible not to give Wesley the violence that they both craved. It was exhilarating and terrifying. He'd worked so hard to get past this point, to control the part of himself that needed the pain and the terror, and now after a hundred-plus years it felt like he was right back at square one. And all because of Wes.

Angel sighed, and Wesley glanced over at him, but just then Miss Wagner suddenly looked up again.

"Here," she said, pointing at the page. "A bottle sold less than two weeks ago. That must have been the last one. It was on the Wolfram and Hart account."

"Who signed for it?" Wesley asked, and the tension was back in his voice.

"Edith Brenton," Miss Wagner answered, offering the book to Wes, who took it. "She's been in a few times -- I'd forgotten that the Roderer was the champagne she purchased this last time."

Angel shook his head -- there'd been a little part of him that had suspected Lilah, and now he was relieved, for Wes' sake, that it might not have been her. "She works for Wolfram and Hart?"

"So it would appear." Wesley looked down at the page, staring at it like he was imprinting the name in his brain. There was an expression on his face that Angel couldn't quite read, but after a moment he blinked and then handed the book back to Miss Wagner. "You remember her visit then?"

The woman nodded. "It was very curious actually, now that I think of it. In the past she'd just come in and made a quick purchase, without asking any questions. Once or twice she asked for a recommendation -- once it was for a bottle of wine that would go with steak tartare, I believe. This time... well, she asked a lot of questions. About the types of bottles used, about the different kinds of corks and seals on the bottles." She paused, her expression slightly horrified. "Oh dear. You don't suppose...?"

"Can you tell us anything else?" Wes asked, ignoring her unspoken question. "Anything at all. Small details can mean a great deal to an investigation."

Miss Wagner seemed to think carefully. "No, I'm afraid not. She looked at a number of bottles before deciding on that one in particular, although I couldn't tell you why. It certainly didn't seem to be because of my recommendation."

Wes smiled slightly. "Well. Thank you very much for your cooperation."

"Will you..." The woman hesitated. "I mean, I hope you find whoever did this."

"Oh, don't worry," Wesley said, and his smile slid into something almost predatory. "We will."

In the sewer again, Wes dropped the facade he'd done such a good job of creating, his walk becoming looser-limbed. He took his glasses off and put them back into his pocket.

Angel thought he should have gotten used to seeing Wes without the glasses by now -- after all, even before, he'd been going without them for a while -- but somehow he hadn't. With the glasses, Wes was undeniably *Wesley.* Without them, he was someone else. Angel sighed and tried to turn his attention back to the matter at hand, tried to ignore the steady ache in his chest that reasserted itself every time he thought about before. When Wes had been Wes. When he and everyone else had still been alive.

"So someone who works for Wolfram and Hart," he said, hoping to prod Wes into telling him what was going on inside his head.

"Someone who works for *Lilah,*" Wesley stressed. "She's... she *was* Lilah's personal assistant. She answered her phones, took dictation... did all sorts of other things, I'm certain, some of them possibly unsavory."

Angel made a gesture with his hand for Wes to continue.

"There are so many questions we need to find answers to," Wesley went on. "Was her goal actually to affect all of us? Or did she have some sort of personal vendetta against Lilah? Did she even know that Lilah was going to drink that champagne? And then of course, there's the possibility that Ms. Brenton had nothing to do with the incident but was merely the instrument by which the champagne was purchased." Wesley paused, and Angel could practically hear the gears in his head turning.

"True. It still could have been anyone."

"We'll need to speak with her, of course. Try to find out if she knows anything."

Angel nodded. "We'll have to be... you know, discreet."

Wesley gave him a look of astonishment crossed with irritation. "Do you think I was indiscreet just now?"

"No, no," Angel back-peddled quickly, not wanting Wes to think that he'd thought that when he really hadn't. "You were great," he said truthfully.

Wes' expression softened. "Thank you." After a minute or so, he said, "I'm glad. That... well, that you're pleased."

"I am. You keep this up, we're both gonna be happy." Angel kept glancing at Wes. Damned if he could tell when the other vampire was being genuine, or when Wes was trying to manipulate him. All he could do, he guessed, was wait until Wes was resouled, and then see if his friend still wanted anything to do with him. The way things were now, it was too hard to tell.

"I want you to be happy, Angel," Wes said, and when he looked at Angel his eyes shone with sincerity.

Angel was starting to worry that this was all a ploy -- that it was just the demon and none of it was actually Wes. And that maybe this fledgling with Wesley's face was, inherently, just as untameable as Spike had been, and was just better at hiding it.

***

"I kept my promise. You had plenty of sex last night."

Wes blinked, unsure if the subject had changed or if Angel really did think that was the only reason Wes wanted him to be happy. But then he grinned smugly, moving closer to his sire. "It was good. I'm... sore. I like that."

Angel frowned, wincing. "You weren't healed enough. I shouldn't have..."

Rolling his eyes, Wes interrupted. "Angel, I'm *fine*. You've fed me well. I feel good." He moved close enough to touch Angel, and as he could see no refusal in the other vampire's expression, Wesley did touch him, running his hands down Angel's flanks to rest at his hips. "I feel *very* good."

Angel pulled him roughly closer with a hand around Wesley's waist. "Yeah, you did," he agreed, looking hungry for more.

Wesley writhed sensually against Angel, rubbing their bodies together. "I tasted good too, didn't I?" He could still feel fangs in his neck from last night. The wound was almost invisible now, but he was aware of it when he stretched his neck. The feeling, and the memory attached, aroused him.

Angel's hand tightened on Wesley's back, and the larger vampire didn't seem to be able to stop himself licking his lips. "Yeah, you did," he said again. Wes could feel his sire hardening against him.

"Would you like more?" Wesley invited, tipping his head to one side.

"Christ," Angel muttered, his eyes fixed avidly on Wesley's neck. "You are..."

"Evil?" Wes suggested with an appropriate smile.

Angel frowned. He knotted his fingers in Wesley's hair and forced him to straighten up. "I was going to say... ah, fuck it. 'Evil' will do." He pushed Wes away from him, a disquieted look on his face. "Let's go home."

Cold panic filled Wesley. "I'm... I'm sorry. Please. I was..." What had he done wrong? Offered his blood? No, Angel had hardened further at that. It was the word 'evil' that was somehow upsetting Angel. "I was only joking."

"It doesn't matter," Angel shrugged, giving Wes a little shove to get him walking.

Wes moved as far as he was pushed, but didn't continue. He gave Angel a pained look. "Please. Let me apologise."

"You didn't do anything wrong. You are what you are." Angel's voice was flat. "You don't get a choice about that."

"But you do?"

"I have a soul. I don't have to act like..." Angel stopped himself and shoved Wes forward again. "Get going. You haven't broken any rules."

"That will be why you're treating me like a schoolboy caught doing something disgusting then."

"Drop it, Wes."

"No."

He found himself slammed back against the tunnel wall, a furious Angel right in his face. Fear filled Wesley instantly, but also a thrill of excitement. Was it going to happen again? He wanted it to happen again.

Angel snarled out, "You're all the fucking same. Fledglings that just don't know when to shut up. No, they have to tweet and twitter and drive the rest of us crazy until blam! They're sobbing on the ground, and you have to go out and kill and kill just to stop yourself from ripping their head off their spine."

Angel's words should have been terrifying, originating as they clearly did from his bloodthirsty history, but Wes was granite hard in his trousers and couldn't stop himself pushing forward, trying to rub himself on Angel.

Angel stepped back, preventing their bodies touching, but still painfully pinning Wes to the wall with strong hands on his shoulders. "Should've known better," he muttered, seemingly to himself. "You're not Wes. You just pretend sometimes. Like you put on an act for that woman in the shop, with the glasses and everything. You got me with the glasses too. Guess you think you're pretty smart manipulating me like that."

"No, I... I just wanted to please you."

"You just wanted to get your needs met."

There was undeniable truth in that, even though it wasn't the whole story. Wes calculated quickly, and rather desperately, and dropped his head. In a quiet, non-demanding voice, he asked, "Punish me?"

"No." Angel released him and stalked away down the corridor. Wes stared after him, upset and not knowing what to do. Was his sire really abandoning him?

"Angel, I love you!" he heard himself call out.

Angel released a bark of cold laughter. "You have no soul. You can't love."

"I *need* you."

"That I'll believe. Keep up then. I won't come back for you." Angel turned a corner. Having nothing better to do, Wes hurried after him.

They walked in stiff unhappy silence until Wesley asked, "May I talk?"

"Better if you don't."

Wesley ignored that and plodded doggedly on. "Why won't you punish me?"

Angel sighed heavily in exasperation. "Because you want me to, which kinda defeats the purpose, doesn't it?"

"It would make you feel better," Wes pointed out.

Angel stopped in his tracks. "Would it really?"

"Yes. You're angry with me. You'd feel better after expressing that."

Without turning to face Wesley, Angel asked, "Shrink to the vamps now, are you, Wes? So you tell me why mashing the face of the man who used to be my best friend is going to make me feel better."

Wesley wasn't sure if he was happy to know he *had* been Angel's best friend, or unhappy that he was no longer. Shaking his head a little, he didn't let himself get distracted from his point. "Because like it or not, you have the same desires as me. The soul doesn't stop them; you told me that yourself."

"I can control them," Angel growled.

"Why bother? I'm soulless. Use me as your punching bag."

Angel's expression was somewhere between incredulous, disgusted, and lustful, or at least that was how Wes interpreted it. "Do you have any idea what you're asking for?"

"Well, yes. I was there when you broke my bones and then raped me, Angel."

Angel flashed an indecipherable look at Wes. "That wasn't rape."

He raised an eyebrow. "Because I'm soulless?"

"Because you wanted it!"

"Yes, I did eventually. But I meant 'no' when I said it."

Angel looked down, his posture rigid.

Wesley used his most gentle and reasonable tones. "Angel, it doesn't matter. Some terrible things have happened, and you needed an outlet for how you felt if you wanted to stay sane. You still need it. I'm the logical choice of... outlet." Tentatively, he reached forward and touched Angel's face.

His sire didn't move, either into or away from the touch.

Wes continued, "It isn't so much that I want to hear the crack of my own kneecap splintering again. Frankly, I could give that a miss. But you're right, I did enjoy some of what was done to me, and I don't like seeing you like this. I've upset you somehow."

"Don't worry, you'll still get fed." Angel's tone was bitter, still apparently convinced that Wesley was worrying only about his own satisfaction.

Wes sighed, letting his hand fall. "Stop it. If all I cared about was obtaining blood and sex, I'd have been gone days ago. And you *know* I could have effectively vanished if I'd really wanted to. I want to be with you, and I want to make you happy. To put it in your terms, I have a need for *you*."

Angel finally looked around, a flicker of what could have been hope in his eyes. "The soulless can't love," he insisted. Wesley had heard Angel say this before, but he wasn't sure how he could support such an argument. Unconditional, spiritual love could well be a product of the soul, but ordinary selfish human love was not, and therefore wasn't denied to the undead.

"James and Elizabeth loved," Wes said quietly, reminding Angel of the vampire pair who had accompanied Angelus and Darla during some of their travels. When Angel had dusted Elizabeth, James had had his own heart cut out in a desperate last ditch attempt for revenge.

Angel didn't answer, but he stepped closer to Wes, reaching out yet not quite touching his face. Wes leant forward that small way and gently kissed the tips of Angel's fingers, and Angel made a small moaning noise.

Wes begged breathily. "Please. Take what you need."

Angel's eyes closed, and his hand began to fall. Wes gritted his teeth in frustration and looked away. Then suddenly, again, he was being compelled back against the tunnel wall, Angel's face close to his, but this time he was being kissed passionately, a thick, hard tongue being thrust into his throat. Oh Lord, yes. Wes wrapped himself around Angel and gave back as good as he received.

When the kiss finally broke, after quite a time of smothered moaning and frottage from the pair of them, Angel seemed in a very different mood. He grinned lustfully at Wes. "So, you want punishing then, do you, boy?"

"Yes, please, sire," Wes grinned back, overjoyed that Angel had finally relaxed and accepted things again.

"I'm a generous man. You've got a minute's head start." Angel gave Wes a look that the younger vampire could only describe as devilish.

It was the expression and attitude Wesley associated with Angelus, whom he frequently saw evidence of in Angel's behaviour. Normally when some demon that should have known better had enraged the older vampire just a little too much. Or Lilah. Angel had shown this face to Lilah a lot, and she'd seemed to like it. Wesley was beginning to understand why, and he stared at his sire in fascination.

Angel laughed. "Run then, Wes. Time's a wasting."

Wesley turned and fled. He pounded through the storm drains with no clear idea of where he was going at all. He was half-hard in his trousers and filled with a delicious fear that was far closer to exhilaration than terror. What would Angel do when he caught Wes? What would he have Wes do? Wesley couldn't yet hear Angel following, but knew he would be. And Wesley enjoyed every nuance of his own fear, every hint of pheromone that his body emitted.

Scooting around a corner, he stopped dead at the edge of a pool of stagnant water. His senses were so opened and alive that for a few moments, as he teetered on the edge, he was captivated by the swirls and ripples in the surface of the black pool.

Then he turned and ran again, back the way he'd come a little way, and then on down another tunnel. Were those Angel's footfalls he could hear, or just his own echoing in the cavernous dark?

He knew that he would be caught, knew he couldn't escape his sire, not like this, even had he desired to. But he wanted to provide a good chase, to get Angel hard and excited and ready to forcibly take what he needed, and what he was far too good at denying himself.

As a human, Wesley had thoroughly approved, and indeed admired, Angel's monkish abstinence from all that was Angelus inside him, and he had been alarmed and worried for his friend at those times when the sadistic, violent animal that was Angelus seemed to be present in Angel's actions. But that was before Wes had understood.

Now Wesley knew the power and thrill of those urges first hand, and the thought of Angel's self-depravation hurt him. He understood intellectually that Angel could never happily start taking human lives again, nor would he indulge in sadistic sex with the living, but Wesley was now another matter. In Wesley, Angel could find a safe victim. At with Wes alone, Angel could be, for once, his whole self.

Wesley's fledgling sense of direction told him he was getting ever further from the hotel, and he was certainly far from territory known to him. Angel, on the other hand, knew all the tunnels intimately. He knew the short cuts and the dead ends, and he could take his time. Wes felt like a rabbit in a strange warren, a ferret at his heels. He knew it was only a matter of time.

On Wes pounded, a spray of grimy water splashing his trouser legs with every footfall. He was panting, and no amount of correction from his intellect seemed to stop the autonomic reflex left over from when he was alive. Wesley almost expected to hear his heart start to beat again.

The gradient changed, and he was pell-melling downhill, trying to slow a little as he didn't know what was at the bottom, shrouded in shadow. As he reached within a few feet of finding out, a large figure moved out from an unseen side tunnel and stepped in front of him.

Wes skidded to an abrupt halt in front of Angel, tripping over his own feet and falling onto his knees in the shallow slurry. His sire laughed, and it wasn't an altogether pleasant sound.

"I could've caught you six times already, Wes. You've got a lot to learn." Angel placed a heavy hand on Wesley's shoulder, preventing the younger vampire from rising to his feet. "While you're down there, make yourself useful."

Finally mastering his body's illogical and embarrassing desire to pant, Wes looked up at Angel, smiled fondly, and then said in a defiant tone, "No."

Angel cuffed him hard, keeping his other hand on Wesley's shoulder to prevent him falling into the dirty water. "Do what you're told, boy."

Reeling from the blow, and instantly erect again, Wesley grinned some more and claimed, "Can't make me."

Angel growled, the expression on his face one of dark delight. He grabbed Wes tightly by the hair on the back of his head, while his other hand undid his own zipper and took out his cock, hard and ready for Wesley's mouth.

Wes locked his lips shut.

Calmly, Angel said. "Open or lose teeth. Your choice."

Knowing Angel meant it, and not wanting to be without teeth for even a few days, Wes obeyed, parting his lips slightly and relaxing his jaw. Instantly, two vice-like fingers were pushing into his cheeks, serrating the flesh inside on his own teeth. Wesley opened wide in a hurry and with a moan of complaint.

The hand on Wesley's face was removed, but the one on the back of his neck remained. Angel positioned himself right in front of Wes, so that his cock hovered just before the younger vampire's lips. "Beg for it."

Wes shook his head, swallowing his own blood from his torn cheeks.

Angel repeated, "Beg for it."

There was no threat made concerning what would be done if Wesley didn't obey, and that somehow worried Wes more. Reluctantly, he muttered, "Please."

Angel sighed. "Haven't got all day, Wes."

The temptation to refuse and receive further punishment, to make Angel more enraged, was significant. On the other hand, Angel's cock looked and smelled irresistible. Wes decided on a compromise and stuck his tongue out, licking wetly around the head.

Angel's response was predictably fast and violent. Wes was dragged to his feet by the scruff of his neck and punched with bruising force in the gut. He was then pushed down on his knees again, in front of the dangerously tempting cock. "Beg for it."

Wesley surrendered. "Please. Please fuck my mouth, Angel. Please take what you need from me. Dear god, *please*."

There was a heavy sigh from Angel, nearly a groan, and almost instantly, Wes was gagging on many inches of thick sire shaft, thrusting hard into the back of his throat.

Angel cuffed him again, quite softly this time. "You're not human. Stop making that stupid noise."

Wesley quickly mastered the redundant gag reflex, but for a while that was all he could do as he tried desperately to adjust to being fucked fast and aggressively in the mouth. Angel was making no attempt to cushion Wes or make it fun for Wes. He was just using him, as Wesley had begged him to do.

Wesley moaned deep in his throat, the vibrations provoking an answering moan from Angel above. Wes was starting to feel the rhythm of Angel's movements now, and he began to enhance the experience with suction, scraping teeth, and well-timed swallows. Soon Angel was grunting, shaking with need.

Being used so callously was somehow deeply erotic, and Wes reached with his hand for his own erection, only to receive another smack from his sire, ear-ringingly hard. He let his hand drop... And then raised it again, bringing it up to cup and then tug hard at Angel's balls.

Angel growled and sped up his pace. Wes could feel the tension rising in his sire and knew the Angel would be reaching orgasm very soon. Wesley began to make a contented growling noise of his own, almost like a deep purr, causing vibrations to resonate throughout his own body.

It seemed that was enough to send Angel hurtling over the edge, and Wes was held rigidly still as Angel emptied all he had deep inside Wesley's throat. Angel moaned --almost sobbed-- Wesley's name as he came.

After shuddering for a while, Angel pulled out. He smiled down at Wes. "Nice mouth you have there. I'll have to remember to do this every time you say something that pisses me off."

"As punishments go," Wes commented a little hoarsely, "I doubt that one would be very effective." The experience had been positively exhilarating actually, like riding his motorbike dangerously fast through traffic. Now if Angel would only let him touch himself for a few moments, he could quickly...

"Stand up."

Wes obliged instantly, no longer in the mood to invite punishment.

"Face the wall."

Again Wes obeyed, and he felt Angel close against his back as the strong arms wrapped around him, one hand heading instantly down to rub at the bulge in Wesley's trousers.

"Want this, Wes?"

Hissing at the much needed touch, Wes said, "You do ask bloody silly questions at times, Angel." The hand at his groin immediately tightened until he whimpered at the pain. "Sorry. Yes. Please. I want it."

The hand relaxed and undid his zipper, feeling inside his boxers. Wes felt his cock encircled in a firm grip, and as it was pulled out into the dank air, he whimpered again and leant back against Angel.

"Yeah, that's right," Angel said. "Keep your head just like that." Angel's free hand was brought up to Wesley's neck to ensure obedience.

Angel was working his cock now, pulling moans and small cries from Wes with every hard jerk of his hand. Wesley writhed back against him, trapped by the two strong hands into an awkward and uncomfortable position, but not caring so long as the lowest hand didn't stop what it was doing.

He heard the crackle as Angel changed faces, and so he knew what was coming, and that knowledge alone was enough to send him charging towards orgasm. As the sharp fangs were forced through the side of his throat, and he could feel his own blood being drawn from him, Wes came, splattering the wall in front of him. His wail echoed away through the tunnels.

As he calmed down, Angel withdrew his fangs and licked his lips. "What'd you say now, Wesley?"

With a euphoric smile, Wes replied. "Thank you, Angel, for taking what you need."


	9. Chapter 9

_I love to see you naked over there, especially from the back..._

 

Angel put down the phone and rubbed at his face, feeling frustrated.

Wesley was sitting in front of the computer, as he had been for some time that afternoon, trying to find out more about Edith Brenton, Lilah's PA. Angel had been making phone calls to try to resolve their other outstanding problem, that of Wesley's soul. They'd risen late after a busy night spent... well, not on anything productive.

So far, Angel hadn't had any luck locating an Orb of Thesulah, but he was determined that he was going to, somehow. Not finding one just wasn't an option, so he would. That was all there was to it.

"We should have gotten one before," he said to Wes. "You know, just in case."

"You're quite right, of course," Wes agreed, sounding distracted, his eyes still focused on the screen. "In retrospect, I think we were all a little avoidant about the possibility of Angelus' return and anything connected with it. I did consider several times that I should research the possibility of anchoring your soul -- removing the happiness clause, I mean. But I think I suspected my own motives too much to start." He typed a few quick words into his keyboard and then sat back to look at Angel appraisingly.

"Suspected your own motives?" Angel echoed.

Wes chuckled quietly, his expression smug, as if that was the response he'd been expecting. "What, you can't think of a reason why the naive soul I was two years ago would have wanted you to be able to experience love and sex?"

"You weren't naive," Angel corrected him. "Eager to please, maybe." He looked at Wes, aware that his eyes were tracing the fledgling's face with more affection than he should have been allowing himself. He sighed and gestured at the phone and his list of numbers. "Still. If we'd had one, we could have saved ourselves all this trouble."

"We could save ourselves the trouble anyway," Wes commented casually, picking up Lilah's PDA and using the stick thing to poke at the tiny screen.

Angel felt a flare of anger at that suggestion. "We could, but we're not going to," he growled, stalking over to Wes and snatching the palm pilot thing from his hands. "I am *not* going to watch you like... *this* for the next hundred years. You're getting your soul back whether you like it or not."

Wesley's expression was hurt at first, and then just sullen. "May I remind you that the device you are presently crushing could be essential for the investigation we, or at least I, am still working on."

Carefully, Angel loosened his grip and set the PDA down on the desk next to the keyboard. "Yeah," he said, shaken at his loss of control. Jesus, was this what being souled and being around unsouled vamps did to him? -- brought out the demon, made if impossible for him to stay calm and sane, and... what if he couldn't control himself around people anymore?

Wesley was frowning at him. "Haven't I given you everything you've asked of me?"

Angel nodded, but stepped away from Wes, still reeling with the possibility that he was losing his ability to stay in control. "Yeah," he repeated, barely hearing what he was saying.

"Angel?" Wes stood up, looking at him hesitantly. "Angel, what's happening?"

"Nothing," Angel said quickly, backing up further. If this was how he was reacting to being around Wes, maybe he needed more space. He exerted more control and said, more calmly, "Nothing. It's fine."

"*Angel*," Wesley insisted, walking towards him.

"Wes, just *back off,*" he ordered, but without the normal authority his voice would have held.

The younger vamp stopped moving, but didn't do as he was told. "You're worrying me. Tell me what's wrong."

This wasn't Wesley, Angel reminded himself for the umpteenth time. It was just a demon wearing Wes' face, and it didn't really care about him, not really. "I'm not... nothing's wrong."

Wesley rubbed his face wearily. "You really don't trust me at all, do you?" He began to turn away, but then he hesitated. "I don't want to push where I'm clearly so unwelcome, but if what is happening is in anyway related to our case, I really do need to know."

"It's not you," Angel lied, wanting to reassure Wes even though he knew that was a stupid impulse. "And it's not the case. It's just... well. Everything all at once." That part wasn't a lie, even if it wasn't the whole truth. He'd felt... lighter, the past couple of days, despite the terrible things that had happened. Like his burden had been eased somehow. And that realization just made him feel guiltier.

Wesley gave him a very sympathetic look, one that forced Angel to turn away because he wanted so badly for the expression to be sincere, but was almost sure it wasn't. Again, Wes moved hesitantly forward, and this time he touched Angel on his arm, squeezing slightly. "It must be awful," he said gently. "Having to deal with the guilt as well as the loss. Of course you're finding it hard."

Angel swallowed heavily and then cleared his throat. "Yeah. Thanks." He couldn't deny that Wes' sympathy, whether real or feigned, made him feel better. He glanced back at Wes. "Better get back to work, huh?"

Wes carefully observed Angel a little longer and then nodded. He returned to his seat. "Ah ha!" he exclaimed, looking at his computer screen. "This might be what I was looking for."

Right - back to work. Angel moved to stand behind Wes and looked over his shoulder at the computer screen. It was loading a web page filled with what looked mostly like a foreign language to Angel. He gestured at the screen. "Okay. So... what's that?"

Wes was fiddling with Lilah's PDA again, connecting it with a cord to his computer. "That," he replied, "is the hacker written software that will hopefully break through the password protection on Lilah's PDA. Which will, in turn, allow me access to the Wolfram and Hart intranet and their personnel files. I happen to know she keeps -- kept -- a back-up of all her passwords in here. She, er, let that slip one day." Wesley grinned to himself, licking his lower lip in a way Angel didn't like at all.

"You think the personnel files are going to be able to tell us anything useful?" Angel shook his head at the meaningless code on the computer screen. Good thing Wes knew how to make sense of it.

"They would be a very good starting place. Wolfram and Hart's records tend to be very... thorough." Wes highlighted all the text on the screen and pushed some keys. A different kind of box appeared on the screen. He hit some more keys, frowning slightly in the way the he always did when he was really concentrating on something. He was wearing his glasses again, and Angel couldn't decide whether Wes was trying to please him or manipulate him.

He thought about telling Wes to take them off and not put them on again. He thought about going back to the phone and making some more calls. But for some reason Angel did neither. Instead he just stood there, watching Wes work at the computer, hoping that the other vamp was going to come up with something that would help them. "Okay... thinking I need some kind of play-by-play here," Angel said finally.

Wes looked up and seemed surprised to see that Angel was still there. "I've downloaded the small program, and using the instructions from the website, I'm using it to break into Lilah's files through a known vulnerability in the PDA's operating system," he explained. "It might take a little while actually, if there was something else you wanted?" His expression was hopeful, and it was clear to Angel what Wes was hoping for.

"No," Angel said shortly. "I should get back to tracking down an orb. Just let me know if you find anything." For a moment, he thought Wesley was going to complain, but he nodded and looked back at the screen, where words and numbers were slowly scrolling up in a small box.

Going over and picking up the phone, Angel dialed the next number from his list and waited as the other end of the line rang. He'd already called about a dozen numbers earlier with no luck, and he was starting to exhaust their possibilities. Just as he was getting ready to hang up, there was a click as someone picked up.

A man with a heavy Indian accent answered. "Doorway to Akasha. Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I hope so," Angel said. "I'm looking for a Thesulan Orb."

"Orb of Thesulah, hmm. We are not getting many requests for those. Perhaps there is one on a back-shelf somewhere. Wait please."

"Thanks." Angel tucked the phone between his shoulder and his ear and waited, trying to be patient. He looked over at Wes, who was typing again, the expression of fierce concentration back on his face. Angel was about to ask him if he'd gotten somewhere, when the voice returned to the other end of the line.

"You are lucky, young man. One orb of Thesulah -- a little dusty perhaps, but still intact. When will you be collecting it?"

Angel glanced down at the address of the shop again -- damn. That had to be a solid day's drive from LA. "I don't suppose you could Fed Ex it?" he asked, pretty sure the answer was going to be 'no' and thinking that they probably wouldn't want to chance it anyway. Not like collecting the insurance would do them a lot of good if the thing got lost in the mail.

"If you would be sending a cheque for the payment, we could mail the orb to you once the cheque it had cleared."

No. Angel wanted it faster than that, and he didn't want to have to worry about it not arriving. "No, that's okay. We'll come pick it up." He tried to think about when they'd be able to get there. "Um... day after tomorrow? Three days at the most. Can you hold it that long?"

"Certainly, young sir. What name would that be for?"

"Angel." He'd been asked enough times that he knew to add, "Just... Angel."

"I should be informing you, sir, that we have certain protections in this shop. I am telling you this because of the unique properties of this item you are purchasing."

Angel blinked. "Protections?"

"The Orb of Thesulah is specifically used in rituals of the undead," the man explained.

"Right," Angel said slowly. "I know what it's used for."

"Very good, sir. The Orb is reserved in your name. Would that be all you are wanting?"

It took a fair amount of self-control not to laugh at that -- Angel wanted a lot of things. But he just said, "That's all. Thanks," and hung up the phone.

Wesley was watching him, a troubled expression on his face.

"What?" Angel asked him.

"So you've found one then?"

"Yeah. Gonna have to take a little road trip to go pick it up though." Angel looked at Wes steadily. "Trust me -- this is the right thing to do. It's the *only* thing to do."

Wesley didn't answer. His gaze dropped from Angel's, and he picked up a pencil and began to twist it in his hands. Feeling a twinge of guilt at Wes' obvious unhappiness, even while telling himself that he was an idiot, Angel crossed over to the younger vamp. He crouched down and touched Wes' knee gently. "I'd offer you a choice if I thought you were capable of making the right one."

Wes gave him an incredulous look. "Are you even vaguely aware of the inherent paradox in your own words?"

Angel thought about that for a minute before he realized what Wes was saying. "Okay, fine. But if you think I don't know what you're going through..."

"I think you don't know what I'm going through," Wesley said levelly.

Angel stood up and paced away from Wes, then turned back to face him. "Then *tell* me," he said. "Help me understand, because obviously I'm not getting it."

"I'm not Angelus."

"No, but you're newly vamped. I know what that's like. The urges, the way you don't see any need to try to control them..." Angel stopped as he realized that Wes *was* trying to control his urges, or at least was acting as if he was trying. "Oh."

Wesley nodded, a slight smile on his face. "You are right. They are very hard to control, and if it wasn't for you, I would see no reason to try. But apart from that first regrettable incident, haven't I done everything you've asked of me?"

"Yeah." The problem was... he wasn't sure what the problem was. Angel thought there should be some kind of rule about who *not* to vamp, because obviously friends weren't such a good idea. On the other hand, who else but him was likely to have this kind of problem? Other than Wes, anyway. Once they got the soul back.

And Spike apparently.

Angel shook himself and tried to give Wes a better response. "Yeah. I know you're trying."

Gently, Wes pointed out, "I'm succeeding."

"I know." Angel didn't know what else to say. He'd known from the second he'd made the decision to turn Wesley that this wasn't going to be a pleasant journey. He just hadn't realized it was going to be so *hard.*

"If you *know*, Angel, then forgive me my impatience, but what the hell is the problem?"

"The problem is that you gave me that... *look,*" Angel gestured at Wes, "When you found out we were another step closer to getting you your soul back. And I *cared.* That's the problem."

Wesley looked down at the pencil in his hands. "Because I want to stay with you."

Angel was confused. "You think I won't want that, once you're souled again?" Angel could see the muscles of Wesley's face tense as he tried to hide an emotional reaction of some sort before speaking.

"I have told you. The person I was before you made me will never be able to forgive you what you've done to me. I was a *Watcher*, Angel. We're conditioned more or less from birth to despise what I now am. It wasn't easy for me to break through that training sufficiently to trust *you*, although I managed it because you are so... unique. But I can see no possibility of ever being able to accept myself, once re-souled."

God, what had he done? Doomed Wes to an eternity of self-hatred and misery? Angel looked into Wes' eyes and told him, "You're unique too. And once you get the soul back I'm gonna do anything it takes to make this better for you, I swear."

Now clearly upset, Wes stared at Angel. "Why? Why do I need the damn soul? I obey you. I do everything you ask. I've killed no one. Why won't you let me stay the way I am?" Wesley looked down as the pencil broke in half, staring at the jagged edges as if they were about to stake him.

"Because it's not right. What if something happened to me? I mean, I know there's only a slim chance, but... I can't leave you like this." Angel didn't know how to explain it to make Wes understand. He wasn't sure he could. "And like you said, you aren't Angelus. You haven't done anything that you'll need to feel guilty for. You won't be like me."

Very slowly, Wesley raised his head. "Do you really think I'd want to spend eternity without you?"

Angel sighed and rubbed his hand over his face, feeling totally overwhelmed and like he didn't want to deal with this conversation anymore. "I don't know. I hadn't... thought about that."

"Maybe you should," Wesley said tightly. But then he added, "In the meantime, I have a small breakthrough pertaining to the case of our dead friends." Angel wondered if he was just imagining the pointed emphasis on the last two words.

Grateful for a chance to set aside the other discussion, Angel moved closer and behind Wes so that he could look at the computer screen again, not that it would make much sense to him probably. "What did you find?" he asked, resting his hand on Wes' shoulder.

Wes stroked his cheek briefly against Angel's hand and seemed to relax under the touch. He pointed at the screen. "Edith Brenton was tragically widowed two years ago, having only married two years prior to that. She'd met Robert Brenton in the workplace." Wesley craned his head around to look up at Angel, and added,

"He was one of the lawyers you shut in with Darla and Drusilla."

***

"It should be around here somewhere," Wesley said distractedly, as he looked for a place to park the SUV. This was the first time he'd driven as a vampire, and the bright lights of the city at night, not to mention all the wonderful smells blowing in through the windows, had proven a little intoxicating. He'd had to fight a little to maintain the necessary concentration, and as a result he now had a slight headache.

He saw Angel glance at him. "You okay?"

"Yes, fine." Wesley stopped the car, having found a suitable spot. "Edith Brenton can be found on the third floor of that building." He indicated a 1930's apartment building one block down the road. Before undoing his door, he turned to study Angel. "How are you?" he asked, knowing that Angel was far from fine.

"I'm okay," Angel said shortly. "Come on. Let's get this taken care of."

Angel wasn't okay, but Wesley knew better than to argue, as the anger and promise of non-sexual violence hung over Angel like a tangible cloud. He got out of the car, and when Angel joined him, they walked along the sidewalk to the building in question. "How do you want to handle this?" Wesley asked in a deliberately mild tone.

"We get our hands on her. We find out what she knows -- what she *did.* Get her to admit it." Angel's eyes were dark with suppressed emotion.

Wesley smiled a secret little smile, happy at the thought of what awaited the woman who had effectively murdered his every friend bar Angel. As they walked up to the building's doorway, he was fantasising about suitably torturous revenge. He knew, theoretically at least, how to make torture last for weeks without the victim dying.

"Third floor?" Angel asked, as he opened the door and walked through, keeping it at arm's length so that Wesley could enter as well.

"Unless you're British," he remarked distractedly. "Perhaps we should have brought weapons?" Not that dealing with a single human should require the use of weapons, but Lilah didn't... hadn't employed fools, and so it wasn't impossible that this Brenton woman might have protection of some sort.

"She won't be expecting us," Angel said. They started down the hallway. "Shouldn't be too hard to surprise her."

Wesley opened the fire-doors leading to the stairs, and they started up them. "We shouldn't be over-confident, Angel. She obviously planned her revenge carefully, and if I were her, I'd have taken great care after the act to ensure that *all* the intended victims were dead. She may well know you've survived." He considered that for a few moments and then added, "Of course, your survival was probably intended all along."

Angel paused so briefly on the stairs that Wesley wasn't even certain he'd seen it. "You think she wanted me to have to live with it."

In a sympathetic tone, Wes replied, "As she has had to."

"Yeah." Angel nodded.

Wesley didn't really know what to say. He could see that Angel was in pain, and he understood, intellectually at least, why, but he wasn't sure that any words of his would improve matters. Still, he had to try. He reached out to the other vampire and laid his hand on the broad back. "Her crimes are not yours, Angel. No court of law would dream of convicting you. Our friends' blood is entirely on her hands, not yours."

"Oh, don't worry," Angel said bleakly, as they reached the next landing. "I know exactly whose blood is on *my* hands." He shoved the door open with the heel of one hand, and they stepped into the hallway.

Walking round to the next flight of stairs up, Wesley frowned to himself. Knowing he'd probably end up regretting it, he asked, "Whose?"

Angel snorted and gave him an incredulous look. "You want a list? Got a century or two?" The older vampire winced. "Sorry."

Suddenly furious, Wesley stopped dead on first step. He turned and glared at his sire. "You can't have it both ways, Angel."

"I know," Angel said, holding up a hand in a gesture of surrender. "I know. I'm sorry. Didn't I say that already?"

Wesley wasn't interested in the apology, as he knew Angel hadn't the slightest idea what he was apologising for. And he didn't give a damn if his insolence brought painful repercussions; he was going to have his say. "Either we *are* the same people with or without our souls, or we are not. If we are not, then you do not share in any of Angelus' guilt. If we are, then you don't need that damn crystal ball!"

He barely had time to register the movement, before Angel had him by the throat, pressed up against the wall of the stairwell. "God *damn* it, Wesley, don't *push* me. My guilt is what all of this is *about.* If you can't see that..." Angel shook his head, then released Wes with a grimace.

Wesley rubbed at his neck, feeling hard done by and scowling at Angel. "You really are the most unbelievably arrogant man I have ever--"

"*Shut up*," Angel told him. "Unless you need another lesson in respect in the form of some broken bones. But I thought you said you didn't want to go that route again."

Wesley's lips pursed. There was so much more he wanted to say, but he knew the threat was both genuine and imminent. Turning to carry on up the stairs, he said simply, "Are you intending to treat me like this once the damn soul is returned?" Because if Angel did, Wes knew, it wouldn't be long before the centuries old vampire was dust.

"Of course not." Angel's tone was clipped, but he started to follow Wesley just the same. The answer infuriated Wes still further, and his hands clasped into fists at his side. In silence, the pair made their way up the final set of stairs. "What's the apartment number?" Angel asked as they left the stairwell and entered the main hallway.

"302," Wes replied in a flat, disinterested voice.

"Think she's home?" Angel seemed to be making an effort at least, for all that his question was ludicrous.

"How on earth would I know?"

Wesley received a warning look and a slight growl for his impertinence. Angel stopped in front of the appropriately numbered door and pointed at it. "Want to find out?"

So Angel was now so far above the petty concerns of others that he needed someone else to knock on a door for him. Wesley rolled his eyes and rapped sharply on the door. There was no response, nor when he repeated the knock.

"Probably won't be able to get in," Angel said, but still he took hold of the doorknob and turned it while forcing the door with his shoulder. The door opened when the lock failed, and to their mutual surprise, Angel moved inward along with it, into the apartment.

"She's moved out then," Wes said matter of factly, "Or the address on file was in error. More likely the former, however, as Wolfram and Hart tend not to get such things wrong. Which means she vacated very recently." He walked in and began to systematically search the small apartment. All personal possessions had been removed, but it was still fully furnished. There could be a clue left behind.

When Wesley thought to glance at Angel, the other vampire was standing over near the window, tapping at the glass thoughtfully with one finger. Angel seemed to sense Wes' gaze on him, and said, "Looks like she cleaned everything out. Kinda weird, don't you think?"

"Isn't that what people normally do when they move home? I imagine she knew you would come after her." Wesley's tone was waspish, and he headed into the bedroom as much to get away from Angel as to search in there. But of course, Angel followed him. It was clear that he wasn't to be allowed a moment's peace.

"No, I just meant... you know how you were saying that maybe she *wanted* me to survive? So wouldn't you think she'd stick around long enough to make sure that I had?"

Wesley forced himself to ignore his bad temper long enough to consider Angel's words, which he had to grudgingly admit held merit. "She's probably still in LA somewhere." There was a long silence with no reply. When Wes glanced up from his investigations, Angel was leaning against the door frame, watching him.

Wesley scowled. "If I'd known you enjoyed having a servant so much, I'd have hired some during my time as your employer."

"Watch it, Wes," Angel warned. He moved into the room and opened the closet door with a bang, revealing that the inside was as stripped of personal belongings as the rest of the apartment. "There's nothing here," he said, with more than a hint of anger and frustration in his voice.

"Well, of course there's nothing *obvious*. Look between cracks, on top of high shelves -- places like that." Wesley couldn't understand why he was having to tell a professional detective how to search a scene for evidence. He sank to his knees and peered under the bed.

"No, I mean... there's *nothing* here. Someone's been in and cleaned, smells like. If there was something that would give us a clue to where she's gone... we'd know."

"Oh." Wesley straightened up and sighed. "I see." He should have known that. Wes was so used to using only his intellect in situations like this, that he'd forgotten he now had other resources available to him.

Angel offered, "Maybe the landlord knows something? Or a neighbour?"

"I'll go and ask," Wesley started to walk briskly from the room.

"Okay," Angel said agreeably, following closely on Wesley's heels, which made the Wesley's hackles rise and increased his barely contained resentment still further. It wasn't just the proximity of the lurking threat inherent in his sire. Angel behaving like Wesley's amiable friend was also quite intolerable, as it was a palpable lie.

Angel had made it abundantly clear he didn't accept that Wesley was actually himself. In fact, it was obvious Angel currently saw Wes as just a vaguely disgusting pilot for the body of the man he wanted back. His sire clearly liked whoever it was he thought Wesley now was so little that he was prepared to go to great lengths to get rid of him, in favour of a man who would immediately walk out on Angel. That is, if Wes didn't dust Angel as soon as he was re-souled.

But of course, Angel was still prepared to fuck him, and if that didn't show the complete hypocrisy of the vampire, what did? Not to mention Angel's insistence in dragging around his guilt at Angelus' crimes like a damn ball and chain, which made no sense whatsoever if they were different people unsouled than when they were souled.

Wes pulled the broken apartment door as shut as he could manage, and knocked on the next door along. Angel stood slightly behind him, not saying anything, seemingly content to let Wesley handle the situation. Wes forced himself to relax, in appearance at least.

After a moment, they could hear a sound from within the apartment and then the door opened a few inches, stopped by the chain across the inside. The half-face they could see through the crack looked pleasant if somewhat suspicious. "Yes?"

"Good evening, Madam," Wesley said, with a small but friendly smile. His glasses were on, and he was doing his best to look inoffensive. It would have helped, of course, if Angel had made the slightest attempt not to loom so much. "We are wondering if you know where we might find Edith. Edith Brenton that is, from next door. Last week, she invited us to a casual dinner party to be held tonight, but it seems that she has moved out. I'm sure she tried to contact us, but we've been away, you see."

"Oh," the woman said, with a small nod. The door closed, and then the chain was unlocked and the door swung open again. "Sorry, just... you never know. Yeah, she moved kind of suddenly. She asked me to keep any mail that showed up for her... sometimes we get each other's, you know?"

"Yes, that makes sense," Wesley said, and smiled again, openly meeting the woman's gaze. "I'm Philip, by the way--" He used one of his middle names, just in case, and offered her his hand to shake. "And this is Liam. We met Edith at a Wolfram and Hart luncheon and got on like the proverbial burning house."

She reached out and shook his hand with her own warm one. "I'm Anna. You don't... work for them, do you?"

Trying to ignore his sudden awareness of the hot, pulsing blood just a couple of feet in front of him, Wesley laughed. "Do we look like lawyers?" He allowed himself to look momentarily worried. "We don't, do we?"

Anna smiled faintly. "No, sorry. Just... I hate that place. I don't understand how she could keep working there after Rob died. And then when she said she was moving into her old boss' apartment..." She gave an artistic shudder. "It's just creepy."

Wesley froze. The bitch had dared to move into Lilah's place after murdering her? The audacity of such an action was staggering. His hand clasped the door frame, and he could feel the wood splintering under his fingers. Almost immediately, he felt Angel's hand on his shoulder, although whether he was being offered comfort or a warning, he couldn't be sure.

Anna didn't seem to have noticed that anything was amiss. She glanced back over her shoulder into her apartment. "I have her address and phone number written down somewhere, if you want to give me a minute to look..."

"No need, but thank you very much for your time." Wesley shrugged out from under Angel's hand and strode off down the corridor without another word. He heard Angel saying something else to the woman, and then Angel was behind him as Wes flung the door to the stairwell open with stunning force and started down the stairs, seething with murderous rage.

Still Angel didn't say anything.

"She's dead," Wesley said, stating it as fact, as they walked through the doors into the second flight down.

"Yeah, I know," Angel said awkwardly. "I was the one who had to..." He paused, and when he spoke again his voice had hardened. "You aren't talking about Lilah."

Wes stopped briefly to glare at him. "No," he said with great emphasis, "you brain-atrophied tyrant, I am not." He started down the final set of stairs, taking two at a time.

There was a rush of movement behind Wesley, then a heavy blow struck him across the back of his head, knocking his feet out from under him and sending him tumbling down the stairs to crash into the wall at the bottom of the landing. Before he could move, Angel had grabbed his shirt front and slammed him up against the wall a second time. "You've been asking for this for the past hour, haven't you, boy?"

Wesley's head was reeling -- from livid anger as much as from the shock and pain of the attack. He met Angel's glare full on, but didn't answer. He made no attempt to stop the hate and rage from showing in his expression however. Wesley was so bloody angry that he could taste it like metal on his tongue.

Angel looked just as enraged as Wes felt. "I want," he gritted out, "to be able to work with you here. Not to have to beat some sense into you every twenty-four hours. You think you can control yourself? Because if you can't, I'll do it for you."

Wes remained silent because everything he could have said -- from suggesting that *he* wasn't the one with the self-control problem here, to comments about how Angel was effectively using him as a highly trained slave -- would only have resulted in disabling violence. And he wanted very much to be physically intact for the encounter that lay ahead of them with the murderess.

"This is the part where you say 'Yes, Angel, I can control myself and show you some respect.'" Angel prompted.

Wes felt his upper lip curl into a slight sneer. "I respect your superior muscle power."

He was slammed into the wall again, so hard this time that his ears rung with the blow. "Jesus Christ, I don't know why I bother," Angel said, disgust evident in his voice. " Fucking English boys are all the same. Maybe I should just take you back to the hotel and leave you chained up there until all of this is taken care of."

"No!" Wes couldn't stop the word coming out and then he sagged in Angel's grip. He felt himself surrender inside. Angel had won again. Angel would always win. Despondently, he said what his sire needed to hear. "I'm sorry. I respect you. Please don't keep me from this." And in a rather plaintive tone, he added, "They were my friends too."

Angel tensed at his last words, but then gentled his grasp and released Wesley slowly. "Okay. But if it happens again, I'll leave you out of it. Don't think I won't."

Wes nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He kept his eyes downcast. He *needed* to be involved in any vengeance. His anger with Angel would just have to wait its turn.

"Come on," Angel said, turning away and starting out the door into the hallway, pausing long enough to let Wesley follow. "Let's not waste any more time."

Wes followed Angel back to the car where he hesitated, unsure if he was still trusted to drive. But Angel just went around to the passenger seat and looked at Wes pointedly.

"We're not going to kill her."

Wes froze with his finger on the button of the electronic key-fob. Unable to say any of the things suddenly crowding around his head, he looked entreatingly at his sire. "*Angel*..."

"There are right ways to handle situations, and that's not one of them. Not if we want to make the world better... we can't just..." But Angel looked uncertain, and Wesley thought he could see the truth behind those dark eyes, so he took a chance.

"She killed *all* of us, Angel. Everyone you had. Cordy, Fred, Lorne, Gunn... myself. She killed *Connor*. You would have killed me just for taking him." Again there was that flash of memory -- Connor, his left eyelid closing over the end of a crossbow bolt as he dropped to the floor; the crossbow dropping from Wesley's hand.

"I know," Angel said. "I know. But... she had her reasons."

"And *we* have our reasons -- bloody good reasons -- for killing her in turn!" Wesley cringed, realising far too late that he was being most unwise, both by allowing his anger to show, and by saying such things on the street -- all but shouting them over the top of the car. He looked down. "I'm sorry. I'm *really* sorry. I... I miss them."

Angel nodded. "So do I." His voice was flat, but something about it informed Wesley that his sire was on the edge of losing his control completely.

Without another word, Wes opened the doors and they both got in. Pausing briefly to calculate the best route, and also to further attempt to calm down, Wes then started the engine. They set off for Lilah's place. After about five minutes, during which neither spoke, but Wesley felt Angel's presence like an imminent volcanic eruption beside him, Wes finally cleared his throat and said, "The keys to her apartment are on my ring, but that won't help us without an invitation."

"Yeah."

Wes flicked a glance at Angel and winced at the barely repressed rage he saw. This was going to be... interesting. The two of them were walking a knife's edge of self-control. Things could go very badly wrong here.

Pulling in near Lilah's block, Wes stopped the car. "I'll follow your lead," he promised. He had no idea if he could keep the promise or not, or even if he had any intention of trying, but for the moment giving Angel what he needed seemed more important than worrying about the truth of things.

"Good," was Angel's only response. They walked in silence, It seemed like only moments before they were outside Lilah's door. "Think we should knock?" Angel asked very softly.

Wes was having a few problems being back here, and he caught himself running fingers down the plain door face; he snatched them back quickly to his side. "I find it hard to imagine that she'll let us in. We could set off the fire alarm perhaps, if we want her out of there."

"Not a bad idea," Angel said thoughtfully, looking around as if searching for an alarm to pull. "Is there just the one entrance?"

Wes frowned, sorting through his memories, but the effort was made a waste of time when the door in front of them opened, revealing a woman with short-cropped brown hair and wearing a smart sandy-coloured trouser suit. He vaguely recognised her as the helpful non-entity who sat behind the desk in Lilah's office, but she was paler and thinner than he remembered, and her eyes were sunken in shadow.

Edith, as she presumably was, didn't look surprised to see them; she'd probably looked through the spyhole before opening the door, and she didn't look much more than nervous either. Presumably she knew they couldn't get in then. Her face was expressionless as she looked at Angel and said in dull, formal tones, "Hello. I was expecting you sooner."

"And what did you think I was gonna do when I got here?" Angel asked tightly.

"There isn't really much you *can* do, is there?" Edith said flatly. Wes cursed inside; they should have brought firearms with them. It was really very stupid of them to forget. His shotgun wouldn't have had any trouble circumventing mystic barriers.

Angel took a step forward, and Wesley imagined that he was right up against the barrier. "Maybe not here and now," Angel told her. "But I've got plenty of time." He glanced at Wesley. "We both do."

"I'm sure," the woman said disinterestedly. "I'll bet you have other more specific threats too." She started backing into Lilah's apartment, taking care when stepping down into the sunken area. "Tell me, Angel. Do you still remember the taste of their blood in your mouth?"

A faint growl rumbled in Angel's chest. "I don't owe you any answers," he said. "Before maybe... but not now."

"So you think we are even now?" Edith paused by the coffee table. "That we have stripped each other of all that mattered?"

Wesley might have been watching Edith, but he didn't miss the fact that Angel glanced in his direction again before speaking. "Does it make you feel better?" his sire asked, instead of answering her questions.

"It might. If it were true," Edith answered, her voice still devoid of emotion. She backed to the other side of the coffee table. "But I won't rest, vampire, until your every moment is awash with tears, the way mine are. Are you crying yet? Have you wept for the ones you fed upon? The ones you ripped apart with your bare hands?"

Angel trembled and moved forward another half an inch, practically leaning into the invisible barrier. "If I said yes, would that make everything right? Would it stop your suffering?"

Wesley was feeling strangely detached. He had no idea what was going on inside Angel's mind, only that it involved intense emotion of some kind, and Wes wasn't at all certain how he himself felt either. Other than that he missed Lilah a great deal, and being here, seeing this strange ghost of a woman in his lover's home, was making it all a bit too real. He did wonder why she kept backing away however.

Edith said dully, "Nothing will end the suffering you've brought to me, murderer. Except death, which will come soon enough once I'm done with you. And nothing will end yours either. You will remember their dead faces for all of your eternity, accusing you of your crimes. Why don't you come in? I invite you."

The words had barely left her lips before Angel was moving into the apartment. Wes reached out to stop him, but it was too late. "Angel, it *has* to be a trap," he said urgently, hurrying after him nonetheless.

Edith smiled.

The door slammed shut behind them, and suddenly the room was full of large and aggressive demons. Heavily armed large and aggressive demons rushing towards them from nowhere. As the two vampires instinctively moved back to back, Wes heard the woman coldly order,

"Dust the skinny one and make sure the big one sees it happen. Disable the big one -- hurt him as much as you want, but don't allow him the mercy of death."


	10. Chapter 10

_You're faithful to the better man; I'm afraid that he left..._

 

"Dust the skinny one and make sure the big one sees it happen. Disable the big one -- hurt him as much as you want, but don't allow him the mercy of death."

Everything turned into a blur after that. Instinct overtook Angel; his body moved to block and punch more quickly than he would have been able to think about it, had thinking been necessary. Almost before he knew what was happening, there were two bodies on the floor, and he had an axe in his hands.

He knew he'd killed one of the demons, and that Wes had somehow managed to kill the other after Angel had knocked it down. Even as he was realizing this, the axe in his hands was making sharp, bloody contact with the head of a third demon. The creature collapsed heavily onto the floor, the blade of the axe still buried in its skull, and Angel had to yank forcefully back on the handle to get it free.

Which was when he saw a sight that made his blood run cold... colder. The other three demons were surrounding Wes, and no matter how quickly Wesley applied his stolen sword in blocking moves, the bastards were getting through. Wesley was covered in blood and looking desperate.

Angel was across the room in five or six steps, barely noticing as his boots crunched through the splintered remains of a piece of wooden furniture. With a strong swing, he buried the head of the axe between the closest demon's shoulder blades, then used all of his weight to wrench the dying creature out of his way. It bumped into its nearest comrade, knocking the second demon over as well.

Wes dived to one side, narrowly avoiding what would have been a killing blow, then darted out of view, leaving Angel to deal with the remaining two demons. Something that should have been easy enough had all the dead ones actually been, well, dead. But as Angel kicked one of his foes in the armour-plated gut, sending it hurtling backwards into the wall, while blocking a blow from the second, a third demon, one of the supposedly dead ones, grabbed his head from behind and started to twist.

Struggling frantically, Angel stomped a booted heel down onto the demon's toes and brought the handle of the axe back sharply into the thing's mid-section, but it didn't react at all. Christ, it was strong. He was aware of movement off to the side, one of the other demons coming in closer. He didn't know where Wesley was.

He clamped down on a surge of worry that Wes might have taken the opportunity to run away, and attempted to twist in the demon's grasp, to move in the same direction his head was being forced. But the other two demons had him now, and with grins horribly reminiscent of the Beast, they held him rigid while the demon behind Angel squeezed and twisted.

Despite tensing his neck muscles hard, Angel could feel his vertebrae being stretched apart. He was starting to get seriously worried, when there was an explosion seemingly right beside his ear, leaving it ringing. The grip on his head was released.

Angel staggered slightly, then took advantage of the motion and ripped his right arm away from the demon on that side. He had no clue what had just happened. He didn't know where the axe had gone, so he punched the demon holding his left arm directly in the face.

There was another loud noise -- now that it was further away from his ears, Angel could make it out as a gunshot. The demon to his right groaned and staggered away from him, and a third shot rang out. A hot spatter of gore -- didn't smell like blood exactly -- hit the side of Angel's face at the same time his left arm was released, and the third demon sank heavily to the floor.

"They're not necessarily dead," came Wesley's voice from behind him, sounding cold in the way that Angel knew from experience meant his friend was repressing some big emotion. "We should dismember them. I don't recognise the species."

Wesley was wet with blood, his shirt soaked with it and a vivid splash painted across the side of his face and throat. "How much of that is yours?" Angel asked, bending to pick up the axe where it lay on the floor. There was no sign of Edith Brenton of course. She'd obviously used the demons as her getaway distraction.

Wes wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, but only made things worse as he smeared demon gore over his lips. He licked them cleaner with an expression of distaste. "Some. Theirs might look like blood, but it tastes like bitter aloes. I hope it's not corrosive."

Angel nodded and swiped his fingers through the gore on his own jaw, looking at it. "Seems okay," he said. "Other than the smell." He hefted the axe and turned toward the nearest demon. As he set about beheading the attackers, Wes was silent. And when, job finished, Angel looked around the room for him, the younger vamp was nowhere to be seen.

"Wesley?" With the axe still in his hand, Angel moved further back into the apartment. "Wes?"

"I'm upstairs," came the distant answer. "I... I'll come down." Angel could hear footfalls above him now.

He moved to the foot of the staircase and waited while Wes started down. "You okay?" Wes didn't answer, but his expression was pained. "Sorry," Angel apologized. "Stupid question. Where'd you get the gun?"

"There's a secret drawer in the phone unit. I knew it was there." Wes stopped in front of Angel. "Are you hurt at all?"

Angel shook his head. "No. What about you?" He reached a hand out, wanting to touch Wes, to reassure himself that Wes was okay, but unsure how it would be received.

Wes bent his head and allowed himself to be examined. "They carved several chunks out of me. It presumably will all heal with enough blood." He didn't sound like he cared much, but he pressed his cheek into Angel's hand as it touched him there. Seeking comfort maybe.

"You did good," Angel told him, moving in closer. "I take it she's not upstairs?"

"No," Wes replied tightly; he seemed to be wavering on the spot. "Angel..."

Dropping the axe to the floor and wrapping an arm around Wes' waist, Angel guided him back toward the couch in the other room. "Easy," he said.

"I'm all right," Wes insisted, but he leant into Angel's partial embrace. "I'm just a little... disquieted."

Angel pushed Wesley gently down onto the couch. He wasn't sure he could handle hearing whatever it was Wes was going to say. "We should get you cleaned up," he suggested, glancing at the kitchen and wondering if there'd be some towels in there.

"I could take a shower if you wish," Wes offered dully. "I suspect my spare clothes are still here."

"You want to do that?" Angel asked. From Wes' tone of voice -- or lack thereof -- he couldn't tell what Wes wanted. Jesus, he was so conflicted. For the umpteenth time he found himself thinking how much harder this was than he would have imagined. How the hell was he supposed to separate this non-Wes from the Wesley he'd known? How was he supposed to not care that this Wesley was upset?

"They nearly killed you." Wes said, which wasn't an answer at all.

"Oh." Angel crouched down and looked up at Wes, trying to figure out what was going on inside his head. "Yeah. But we're okay." He touched Wesley's knee as he realized for the first time that Wes could have let them kill him and been free, if he'd wanted to. "You did good," he said again, awkwardly.

Wesley's expression was pained and beseeching, although it wasn't exactly clear what he was begging for. "Angel..."

Relenting from his earlier stance of not wanting to know, Angel sighed and let his thumb slide back and forth across Wes' knee. "What? Talk to me."

But Wes didn't talk, not at first. Instead, he seemed to take Angel's words as permission to slip to his knees beside him. Wes wrapped his arms around Angel, holding him tightly. Finally he murmured, so softly that even Angel's ears had trouble hearing, "You can't die. I won't allow it. Too many are gone."

Angel put his own arms around Wes. "It's okay. I'm fine."

"She won't rest, Angel. She won't give up until one or both of us are dust."

"We don't know that," Angel said, shifting his weight and then half-lifting Wesley up onto the couch where they'd be more comfortable.

"Yes, we can," Wes argued, sounding more heated now. "Think how you would be if someone took... if someone killed Buffy."

"Someone did," Angel reminded him, feeling a familiar tightness in his chest.

Wesley winced, but persisted doggedly. "Technically no, as she sacrificed herself. But perhaps you are beyond revenge, as you say. But most of us are not. Not when a person matters so entirely that without them existence seems meaningless."

Angel remembered in a flash that moment when he'd decided to turn Wesley -- not that it was that cut and dried, and not that he'd have used the word *meaningless*. "You really think she won't be satisfied until we're dead? She told them to kill you but *not* me."

"She wants me dead so that you will suffer further; that much is obvious. But I imagine that, if you are dusted along the way, she'll lose her interest in me. Which would be very foolish of her indeed." Wesley's little smile was dark and unpleasant.

As much as he wished he didn't, Angel understood that smile. "You think she deserves to die."

"When the equation is kill or be killed, then the solution is obvious." Wesley's tone was firm and matter-of-fact, but it softened as he added, "You are so much more important to the world than she is." Fingertips softly stroked Angel's face as Wes looked at him with great... affection?

"There's got to be another way," Angel said stubbornly. "What about prison? If we could get her to confess..." Wes just smiled gently at him, as if he knew perfectly well that Angel didn't believe his own words. "We're not going to kill her," Angel repeated. God knew he didn't want this woman's death on his conscience along with her husband's, and he didn't want it on Wes' conscience either.

Wes frowned and drew back a little. "If she... if she kills you, I will ensure her death lasts weeks, months if I'm clever enough," he promised. "She's taken... everyone else, Angel. She isn't having you too."

"She's not." Angel found himself reaching for Wes' face again, needing to run his fingers across it. There was a cut on Wesley's jaw -- not very deep, but probably responsible for the blood that was drying on his face. He leaned forward and traced the edge of the cut with his tongue, and Wes shivered.

Tipping his head back, Wesley pressed his body closer. "Oh please. Angel, please..." Wes still wasn't saying what he wanted, but Angel thought he was getting the idea now.

The blood tasted like Wes, like Angel knew Wesley tasted even though this blood wasn't even really his. It made Angel hard. He slid his hand into Wes' hair, using the grip to turn the other vamp to face him, and then kissed him.

Wesley's lips still had the taint of bitter demon gore, but Angel didn't care, as the way Wes was responding to the kiss was molten and submissive and spoke compellingly to the predator inside Angel. It was making Angel harder still; making him desire more of the kind of sexual violence he'd already been indulging in too much with the fledgling.

Angel growled slightly, his teeth worrying at Wes' lower lip. "Good boy," he said roughly, and the words encompassed half a dozen emotions that he wouldn't have been able to separate.

Wes moaned at the words and began to tug at Angel's shirt, pulling it from his pants, and slipping in a hand to paw with hard fingers at the bare skin underneath. "Angel," he repeated for the countless time. For a man of long words, Wes' vocabulary sure became limited when he was feeling strongly about something.

Letting Wesley's hands do as they would, Angel kissed him harder, tearing at Wes' already-ruined shirt. The fabric was damp with blood and shredded in at least one place, and he needed to get his hands on Wes. On *this* Wes, he had to admit to himself, feeling a surge of affection for the fledgling who'd effectively saved his life. Who'd been so visibly affected by the thought of Angel's possible death. Whoever this Wesley was... he really did care about Angel.

Wes tensed as Angel's hand closed tight on the broken flesh of his upper arm, and his hips thrust forward, apparently with an aroused reaction to the pain. He clambered around on the sofa, moving over Angel so that he was sitting astride his sire, his hands still moving under Angel's shirt as Angel thrust his tongue into Wes' mouth possessively.

Angel pushed his hips up, rubbing his cock against the inside of Wes' thigh through the layers of their slacks and sliding his hands around to Wesley's ass to pull him in closer. Angel's mouth left Wesley's in favor of sliding down across Wes' throat to his chest, where a deeper cut -- now shallower as it healed -- had left another smear of blood.

"Uhh," Wes grunted, as Angel's tongue explored the wound, probing inside. "God." He brought his hands abruptly up, ripping Angel's shirt apart in the process, and while tangling his fingers in Angel's hair, he pressed Angel's face to his chest. Simultaneously, Wes was rotating his hips, pressing his erection against anything he could touch and driving Angel a little bit crazy with need.

Need. Angel needed to be inside Wes. He stood up, hands still cradling Wesley's ass, grinding their cocks together as he moved, then let Wes slide down to the floor. "Take off the rest of your clothes," he murmured against Wes' lips. "Now."

Wesley's face was half-smiling, half a rictus of hungry lust, as he tore his pants from himself, his gaze never leaving Angel's. Shoes kicked off and flying across the room, Wes then pressed his now naked body against Angel's, moving wantonly, while making a little growling noise deep in his throat.

Angel's hands explored Wes' skin carefully, but not gently, as they kissed again. He traced a finger down Wesley's spine, feeling each vertebra in turn, and then moved lower down between his buttocks, probing. "Turn around," he ordered, stepping back and gesturing at the couch. "I want you on your knees."

Wesley's aroused stare held Angel's again for a few intense moments, before the fledgling turned and did exactly as Angel wanted, kneeling on the couch and leaning his arms on the seat back. Wes moved his legs apart invitingly; an unspoken plea of 'possess me' inherent in the posture.

With a growl of satisfaction, Angel took the two steps necessary to put himself behind Wesley and grabbed onto Wes' slender hips. He leaned in close, his lips on Wes' back, licking; his teeth biting at the pale skin. He let the fabric of his slacks rub against Wesley's ass and then reached around Wes' cock, circling it with his fingers. Wesley whimpered, thrusting into Angel's grip and then back against his body.

There was a small but deep gash just under Wes' shoulder, still actively bleeding, and Angel found he was watching the wound, almost mesmerised, as Wes writhed in reaction to the tight grip around his shaft. Angel licked the gash, the taste of the blood filling his senses in a way that nothing else ever could.

He sucked at the wound gently, encouraging blood flow, then moved lower. His tongue trailed over the small of Wes' back, then skipped over Wesley's ass in favor of licking his balls. Angel's hand still held Wes' cock firmly, letting the other vamp thrust into his grip as he would.

And thrust Wes did, releasing a string of guttural grunts, and whimpering every time Angel's tongue touched him. "You want me to fuck you?" Angel asked in a low voice. He flicked the tip of his tongue over Wes' tight opening, dampening it.

"God. Angel, *please*..." Wes pushed himself back against Angel's face, shuddering, and it wasn't clear whether he was asking for more tongue or to be fucked. Maybe he didn't know; maybe he didn't care which, just wanted one of them urgently.

Angel didn't want to wait any more either -- his own cock was straining against the front of his pants, begging for release. He straightened up, and one-handed, he got his slacks open and stroked himself a couple of times, spreading the pre-come around a little bit. He lined himself up and pushed into Wes slowly, closing his eyes at the sensation, and refusing to let himself think about how different it would have felt had Wesley still been alive. "Good boy," he said again, and tightened his grip on Wes' cock.

The gasp Wesley made, and the way his body tensed around Angel's length, told Angel that Wes would come very soon if he did nothing to prevent it, so Angel moved his grip to the base of Wesley's shaft and tightened it further, to the point of pain. Wesley's sharp answering cry spoke to Angel deep in his balls, and he thrust hard inside the tight, welcoming ass.

"That's it," he growled softly. "You like it, don't you." He picked up the pace, fucking Wes more roughly, taking pleasure in the fact that he didn't have to be gentle.

"Of course -- I bloody well -- like it," Wes staggered out between the hard thrusts inside of him. As that had sounded like insolence to Angel, and maybe also just because he wanted to, Angel dug the fingers of his free hand into Wesley's hip, hard enough to leave instant bruising. Wes jolted back against him.

Angel knew he wasn't going to last long himself -- not with the smell of blood in the air and the taste of it still in his mouth -- and he decided that didn't matter. He forced his cock deeper into Wes and loosened his grip on Wes' rock-hard erection, sliding his hand up closer to the head as he started to thrust even faster. "God... Wesley..."

"Angel, I... I... I... Oh God." Wesley's voice raised to a shout with a final cry of his sire's name before his butt cheeks clenched hard, and his body shook beneath Angel. The distinct scent of male orgasm filled Angel's nostrils, smelling, impossibly, almost better than blood.

It drove him over the edge too, to a place where everything was laid raw and bare and painful. As Angel came, pumping hard into Wes's body, he felt tears welling up. He didn't know whether to hold Wesley close or shove him away. All he knew was that he felt unbearably alone, and Wes -- *this* Wes -- was all he had left. He wrapped both arms around Wesley and closed his eyes as a last shudder ran through him.

***

Lord, he was frighteningly beautiful.

Wesley was lying in bed, perched on an elbow, and watching Angel sleep. They had come home after the adventure at Lilah's and talked very little, but they had proceeded to have a great deal more sex. Violent -- almost vicious -- sex that had been strangely emotional for both of them, and it had left Wesley energised and wanting still more. But Angel was exhausted and had fallen into a breathless and utterly still sleep that looked, to the eye alone, identical to death.

Yet Wes couldn't be more aware of the *living* power in every rolling muscle of the body he couldn't seem to move his gaze away from. It seemed oddly natural to watch Angel; he'd always done so, but he was only now able to do it so openly. And his sire looked more peaceful in sleep than he ever did awake.

Wes was worried for Angel, whose level of personal and existential angst -- never exactly inconsiderable -- must surely have rocketed after the events of the last few days. And indeed, the cracks were showing in Angel's façade of self-control. He had lost everybody dear to him -- even Wesley, as he persistently asserted that Wes was not himself -- and there was no doubt in Wesley's mind that Angel was blaming himself for all their deaths.

And Wes knew his own resentment for the way he was being treated was not helping Angel's state of mind at all. It wasn't that he wanted to drive Angel to a breakdown point -- on the contrary, Wes very much wanted him to remain strong -- it was just that Angel was so unbearably stubborn.

Wesley didn't believe Angel was actually incapable of understanding that Wes was still himself, despite the loss of the soul. It wasn't as if Wes had woken with amnesia -- he remembered everything, and the feelings he had for people were still the same. The only difference he could discern in himself was that all the ingrained rights and wrongs, that he had been trained so intensively to believe in and care about, no longer mattered at all.

That didn't make him a separate entity; it just made him an altered person. In much the same way as the human he'd been after stealing Connor, and the prolonged consequences of that foolish action, was altered from the human he'd been when first arriving in LA.

No, Wesley didn't accept that Angel was stupid enough to really believe Wes wasn't himself. There was a different reason for Angel's stubbornness, and that was to do with his issues regarding souls and the lack of them, and his desire to separate himself from the actions of Angelus.

So Angel was so determined to get Wesley's soul back, not seeming to hear when Wes tried to explain the ways in which this would most definitely not be a good thing. Wesley was doing the best he could to keep a tight rein on his own anger and frustration concerning this, but it was difficult. It hurt him more than he could have put into words that Angel refused to accept him as he was -- as if the soul was some shining beacon of perfection and without it he was a loathsome creature.

Although, of course, Wes had felt that way himself about the soulless once... but he hadn't fucked them into the mattress every night whilst feeling that way.

It made Wes want to throttle Angel, to beat his head against a wall until he admitted that he... Wesley sighed quietly. All such violence would achieve would be to prove his sire at least partially right.

Angel seemed to believe that Wes being re-souled would somehow turn back time and make everything the way it had once been. He kept blindly stumbling toward that goal, refusing to admit that their situation would remain just as complicated, albeit in different ways, once it had been achieved.

There was no going back; there never was. Wesley knew that better than most.

The people they had lost, the people they themselves had once been, could never be returned to them. Because they were free-willed creatures in a dimension subject to time in which they could only move forward; change and entropy were as irremediable as they were inescapable.

Of course, some people weren't given the opportunity to change, regardless of whether or not they might have. Wesley pushed himself into a sitting position carefully, trying not to contemplate Lilah and might-have-beens because he knew that doing so would only result in a mood that would be... difficult to dispel.

There was something he had to do for her, and it would also be for Angel, although his sire would never understand why.

Wesley slipped out of bed, and grabbing his clothes on the way, he left the room. Downstairs in the office, he rapidly got himself dressed. He had to work quickly, not just because Angel might wake and look for him, but also because dawn was only a few hours away.

Turning on the computer, Wes went through the pockets of his jacket. As well as Lilah's gun that Angel had either forgotten about, or didn't care that Wes still had, there was also another item he'd picked up from Lilah's bedroom, where the sheets had still held the scent of her perfume and...

And he wasn't meant to be thinking about her, was he? Wes sighed heavily.

The crumbled piece of paper he pulled from his pocket was a wrapper for three ounces of boraba root resin, a common magical ingredient used in summoning. There was no maker's or supplier's name on the wrapper, just a poorly printed stamp of an Aztec face. Wesley was certain he'd seen it somewhere before.

As he waited for the computer to boot up, he brought the wrapper up to his face and inhaled, drawing in the smell of it, trying to cover up the memory of Lilah with one that would actually prove to be of assistance in some way. The scent of the resin was still strong on the paper, bitter and somewhat oily. He spread the wrapper flat on the desk next to the keyboard and looked up at the computer screen as it finished its routine.

It didn't actually take him long to find what he was looking for. A search of the on-line store of a large mail order business based in New Orleans revealed small photographs of spell components with identical labelling, and revealed the original supplier of the products to be Condor Tears. A quick search under that name provided a local address; within walking distance in fact.

Wesley's smile was icy cold.

He checked the clock -- three hours until sunrise. Plenty of time to take care of this particular bit of business and then he'd be one step closer to getting his hands on Miss Edith Benton. Wesley grabbed a couple of daggers from the weapons case and then headed out into the night.

The air was cool, and the city was as quiet as it ever managed to be. Wes trotted through the streets and back alleys, not allowing himself to get distracted by the freedom to feed on living blood, or the scents and sights inviting him to do so.

What he was planning was risk enough, and considering Angel's unstable state of mind currently, Wes knew that the risk of capital punishment was high. Angel, Wesley knew, would regret killing Wes once it was done, but that didn't mean he wouldn't become murderous in the heat of anger. And if Wes had eaten innocents while out, the likelihood of this happening would be much higher.

Wesley knew that Angel must have been different with the other vampires he'd created, as the return of his soul had doubtlessly turned him into another kind of sire altogether. Still, Wesley couldn't help but wonder what Angel's relationship with his other fledglings had been like. He hadn't missed the oblique references to someone -- Wes assumed it was Spike -- over the last few days.

Wes knew Angel's relationship with Spike was complex and filled with rivalry and combativeness, and yet both remained undusted, despite ample opportunity to change that. While Drusilla was technically Spike's sire, Wes saw clear signs of a dysfunctional father-son dynamic between Spike and Angel. It was, after all, a dynamic Wesley knew a lot about. The difference being that Wes had always capitulated to his human father, whereas Spike seemed to be, from all that Wesley had read, a natural born rebel.

And even with Angel, Wesley's first impulse was always to submit to the will of the one who had made him. He couldn't help but feel special that he was the one fledgling in existence created by a souled vampire. The question of whether or not that actually made him special in *Angel's* eyes was one he wasn't certain he wished to contemplate too carefully. But his sire clearly took his 'parental' responsibilities seriously...

Which thought, of course, led Wesley to the issue of Connor. He might not feel guilty about killing the lad -- especially given the circumstances of the situation which meant that none of them could realistically be held responsible for their actions -- but he most definitely feared Angel's reaction to the news should he find out. Angel seemed to believe that Gunn had killed Connor, and Wes didn't want to correct that assumption.

There was far too much bad blood between them concerning the boy already. Not even death and waking up a vampire seemed to have had the ability to make Wes forget the horror of Angel's words. The ones that had accompanied the pillow, each one of them branded into his temporal lobes so deeply that he could reproduce them eidetically -- 'You think I'd forgive you? No! Never! You're gonna die! You hear me? You're gonna pay!'

Well, he had done; both things in fact, and Wes had no desire to meet that side of Angel again. Which made his presence in front of what looked like a private residence, and not at home obediently curled up with the other vampire in bed, a bit of a mystery. Wesley knew Angel would hit first, ask questions later -- if there was anything left to question.

He went up the short walkway quietly, moving as though he had every right to be there even though, as far as he could tell, there was no one nearby to protest his early morning visit. Presumably the people or person behind Condor Tears were running the small magical component business from home. It was clear from the curtains in the window and the narrow glimpse of the room beyond that Wesley would require an invitation to get inside. He stopped in front of the door.

Not wanting to waste any time, he pressed the bell and then knocked loudly, mentally preparing himself for what could very well be an unpleasant confrontation with someone who didn't appreciate being woken. Surprisingly, it was only a minute or two before he heard someone on the other side of the door. "Who's there?"

Speaking loud enough, he hoped, to be heard, Wes replied, "I'm trying to locate the proprietor of Condor Tears. It's a bit of an emergency, I'm afraid."

There was a moment of silence, then the decidedly male voice said, "It's the middle of the night. Can't it wait 'til morning?"

"No, it really can't. I'm sorry. I do understand how inconvenient this is."

Another hesitation, and then the sound of the door being unlocked. The man who pulled it open a few inches to look out was... average -- not particularly tall, sandy-coloured hair, wire-rimmed glasses not unlike Wesley's own. "What do you want?"

Wes hesitated, both to recover from the surge of hunger he always seemed to feel these days when confronted with a living human, and to consider what to say. "I'm afraid it's a matter of life and death, Mr...?"

"Brooks," the man said, opening the door another inch or two. "Joe. What is it?" He looked... nervous, but his twitchiness seemed to be more general, and not directed specifically at Wesley.

"I'm afraid that some of your products have been used with murderous intent, Joe, which is, of course, not your fault, but it does mean that I need some information from you before further deaths occur." Wes felt a little pride at how carefully he was phrasing things. Of course, he could just lie, but it was more of an enjoyable challenge this way.

Joe didn't seem as surprised to hear this news as Wesley might have imagined. He glanced over his shoulder quickly, and his eyes didn't quite meet Wesley's as he said, "Look, I'm really sorry, but I don't think I can help you."

Pondering Joe's nervousness and what it might mean, Wesley finally remembered to use his vampire senses. There was a smell of chronic fear on the man, rank and yet somehow erotic, and strong enough to disguise any other scents in the air unless one was specifically looking for them, which Wesley now was. And there, underneath Joe's sweat, was a scent familiar from earlier tonight.

Somewhere in this house was Wesley's prey.

"Are you a family man, Joe?" he asked seriously.

Joe took a step backward, but made no effort to close the door. "Are you threatening me?" There was a tinge of near-hysteria to the man's voice, as though he'd been close to the edge for some time and had just now realised it.

"On the contrary, I'm wondering what threat *she* holds over you." Wesley's voice was quiet but emphatic, and his gaze never wavered from the other man's eyes. "I can help you, Joe. Let me in."

Recognition flashed across Joe's face, fleeting but unmistakable. "You're a vampire."

Repressing a small smile, Wes improvised. "Yes, maybe you've heard me. I'm Angel, the vampire with a soul. Let me in, and she'll bother you no more. You have my solemn promise."

Joe leaned in a little bit closer, obviously torn. "She's got my wife and daughter," he said, very softly, the anguish clear on his face and in his voice. "She said --"

"I promise you she'll never reach them. Let me in, Joe."

The other man took a deep breath, and then nodded. "Okay. Okay. Come in--"

Wesley was inside the house quicker than Joe could finish his invitation.


	11. Chapter 11

_So let me judge your love affair in this very room where I have sentenced mine to death..._

 

Angel watched with a smile as Spike roughly yanked the girl's head back and licked her throat. She was just a little slip of a thing -- couldn't have been more than seventeen -- and she was crying almost silently, sheer terror pouring from her in waves that really whetted his appetite. Her bodice was ripped, leaving one full round breast partially exposed, but she wasn't trying to cover herself up at all.

"C'mon pet," Spike said, grinning at Angel over the top of the lass, although he was talking to her. "You can make more noise than that, I'm certain of it." He looked down at her and licked his tongue around the bottom of his fangs. "Scream 'no' for me, eh? He likes that. You want to make Angelus happy, don't you?"

The girl struggled desperately in his grip, and Angel could see Spike's hands tighten on her body. "Please," she whispered. "Please let me go."

Angel moved closer, pressing her warm, curved body in between his and Spike's, feeling himself getting hard from the fear in her eyes as much as the feel of her against him. "Let you go?" he mocked. "Let's think about that for a minute. What do you think, William? Should we let her go?"

"Well now," Spike said, acting as if he was considering Angel's suggestions seriously. "There are those who'd say that what we are about here tonight is wrong, and that we will surely burn in hell should we hurt a single hair on this poor child's head. Perhaps we *should* let her go, Angelus."

Grabbing the girl's half-naked breast in his hand, Angel rubbed his lower body against hers and grinned when she whimpered. "Oh, all right," he said, with a huge fake sigh, and stepped back as if to free her. "Fine, we'll let her go."

Without in any way releasing her, Spike said, "Well, go on then. You're free. Fly away little sparrow! What are you waiting for?"

The girl struggled pointlessly and wailed. "But sir, you're still holding me! I can't!"

"Oh dear, never mind," Spike chuckled. "Seems she must like our company after all, Angelus. Shall I be mother?"

Instead of answering, Angel moved in again and reached a hand back into her hair, tangling his fingers with Spike's amongst the strands. Tilting the girl's head back to expose her throat, he used his other hand to cover her mouth, muffling her shriek as he sank his teeth through her flesh. He took only one taste, then lifted his face and looked at Spike, licking the blood from his lips before speaking. "Good girl," he said approvingly, in the way a human might praise a fine vintage.

"May I?" Spike asked, staring fixedly at the oozing wound.

"Of course," Angel granted permission. His fingers were still covering the girl's mouth, her cries and whimpers softer now as she reached the point where she realized that struggling was futile. Her eyes were wide with terror and pain, and he watched with approval as they glazed over when Spike bit into her throat and started to drink.

With his own teeth, Angel parted the skin on the other side of her throat and joined Spike, their little late-night snack crushed between them as they drained her.

Finally, she was dropped to the ground between them, emptied and forgotten, as they turned their attention to each other. Bloody mouths sought each other, bodies pressed together, and feet stumbled over the girl's corpse as Angel shoved Spike back into the wall.

"Tastes good," Angel murmured against Spike's throat, feeling Spike's hips hard against his own.

"Could taste better," Spike moaned, his desperately grasping hands making it clear he wanted more, although he'd never dare ask. Angel liked the boy best when he was like this -- pliant and needing him. It was the way things should be.

Angel ran his sharp teeth over Spike's skin, grinning when Spike shuddered. "Beg for it," he demanded.

"Please, sire," Spike pleaded, acknowledging Angel's role in their close-knit little family, and pleasing Angel with the use of the word. "Please. Bite me, take me... whatever you bloody well desire."

"Good," Angel said. "Long as you don't forget that this is about what *I* want, we get along fine, don't we?" He turned Spike around, tearing the slighter vampire's pants in his haste to get them down, tearing his own because he just didn't give a shit. Without pausing for any kind of preparation, Angel pushed his cock into Spike's tight ass.

Spike's wail of pain quickly turned into noises of pleasure as Angel moved inside him, slick now on Spike's blood. The younger vamp braced himself against the wall and pushed back against Angel's strong thrusts, grunting with the effort to hold his arms taut under the onslaught.

Angel could see Spike's fingers digging into the brickwork of the wall. He thrust faster, harder, concerned only with his own release. As he grew closer to his climax, he jerked Spike's head back abruptly and bit into the exposed throat, drinking deeply -- out of desire, not hunger. Thick dead blood filled his mouth, making him impossibly harder. Spike shook beneath him, whimpering and cursing, and saying his name like Angel was some kind of god.

Shoving himself deeper still into the young vampire, Angel reached around and gripped onto Spike's balls, hard, and as the other vampire's body tightened in pain, voice rising to a howl, Angel came. His hips pumped frantically, ripples of pleasure moving over him like a shock wave.

Pulling out, Angel rolled off Spike to lay flat on his back on the covers and recover his scattered wits. After a few moments, he turned his head to look at the younger vampire with fondness, wanting to express something approaching affection. Angel's guts contracted with some strong emotion when he saw that Spike was gone. He must have used the few seconds in which Angel's eyes had been closed to slip away, and for some reason, the older vamp hadn't heard him leave the bedroom.

He thought he should look around for his clothes, but before he could blink he was standing outside the front door, and when he looked down he saw he was already dressed. The hour wasn't late and there were still some people about. Where had Spike gone?

Spike was always doing this, always testing and rebelling. It drove Angel a little crazy because *he* was the man of the family, the sire figure, and Spike should respect that and do what he was told. Angel couldn't understand why Spike would even think about disobeying him. Didn't he make the beatings torturous enough? Well, this time he'd cut some things off that would take weeks to regrow and see how the wilful brat liked it.

Luckily, Spike hadn't been gone long, and somehow, Angel just seemed to know where to go. He walked through the streets, dodging the occasional pedestrian. But the alleyways all looked the same, and things around the edges of his vision seemed blurry and not-quite-real. And even though Angel thought he knew where he was heading, he couldn't seem to get there; nothing was where it should be, and he kept finding himself faced with brick walls where there should be ways through.

And his feeling of unease about where Spike was and what he could be doing was growing. The younger vampire could be in danger; he might need help...

Angel wasn't sure what the hell was wrong with him. Why should he give a fuck if Spike was off somewhere at risk of getting himself dusted? Hell, he'd been half-hoping that Spike might do just that at some point and save Angel the trouble of having to do it himself. He cared that he was being disobeyed, sure. But Spike in danger? Good luck to the guy with the stake.

Despite this attempt at rationalization, Angel was getting more frantic, walking more quickly, approaching each corner eagerly, as if he might find what he had lost around it.

Angry and afraid, he punched the wall of the next dead end he found himself in. All these streets were the fucking same. He started off thinking that yeah, this was the one, this was the right way to go, and then damnit, the brick wall loomed up in his vision, and he was nowhere again.

Things were becoming urgent and he was starting to panic. If he didn't get there soon it might be too late.

And then he would have lost Wes forever.

With a strangled gasp, Angel sat up, his legs tangled in the sheets like he'd been tossing and turning in his sleep. He was the only one in the bed. "Wes? Wesley!"

Angel's powerful sense of smell told him it had been a little while since the fledgling had left the bed, maybe as long as an hour. Cursing, Angel stumbled from the sheets and into his clothes, the urgency of the dream still gripping him. He had a very bad feeling that something was wrong, that Wes was in danger... although from what he wasn't sure.

Still groggy, he made his way downstairs then went into the office. Where would Wes have gone? Not much point in going back to Lilah's apartment -- neither of them believed that Edith would show up there again any time soon.

That was assuming Wes had gone after Edith, which seemed a pretty good guess. Of course, he might have gone to Lilah's for different reasons, but Angel found he didn't really want to think about what they would be. And he hoped Wes wasn't sneaking out to feed, because after everything else, that would just be too much.

Looking at Wesley's desk, he found a small waxed paper wrapper by the keyboard. Investigating it, Angel discovered it had a printed stamp on it and a very distinctive smell.

He knew this place -- he couldn't remember the name, but he knew where it was. He'd followed a lead there a couple of years ago, looking for some spell ingredient that Wes had needed, but it hadn't panned out. Stuffing the scrap of paper into his pocket, Angel strode out of the hotel and onto the street, noting in the back of his brain that sunrise was only a couple of hours away at most.

The dream dogged his heels, urging him to start to run. Flashes of Spike in lust, of Wes in pain, of the other fledglings he had trained over his years as Angelus, all merged together in his mind, confusing his senses and increasing his panic. Wes -- soulless vampire Wes -- was all Angel had left and the fledgling was a promissory note for so much more once his soul was returned. Angel couldn't lose him, not now. Not without losing himself.

Like a flash, he remembered that night he had just started to dream about, when Spike had slipped out while Angelus' back was turned. The girls had been off somewhere, and Dru had made him swear that he'd take good care of her boy, but he'd let Spike get out. Not that Spike couldn't have a fine time without supervision -- it was just that the fledgling didn't have any sense about it...

*Hadn't* had any sense about it. Past tense... because the fledgling in this case was Wes, a totally different kind of vampire. And yet... Angel remembered what he'd found that night -- Spike sitting amongst a crowd of fancily dressed bodies, each of them barely tasted before he'd broken their neck or ripped out their guts. He'd been like a fox gone crazy in a henhouse. Angel wouldn't normally have cared, but in this case the victims had been important people in the local society. Which had meant the four of them had had to move on *again*, and he'd had just about enough of the attention-seeking stupidity...

Was that what Wes was doing? Trying to find ways to get more of Angel's attention? Because fuck it all, Angel couldn't imagine how he could possibly give Wes any *more* attention than he had been.

Angel sped through the deserted streets, his sense of direction unwavering. He skidded around the corner into the back street where the shaman lived only to see, halfway down the road, a figure that looked very much like Wes disappearing into the house that Angel was heading to.

Okay, whatever it was Wes had planned, Angel might not be too late to stop him. Quickly, he moved down the street to the house, where the front door still stood open. A man that Angel vaguely recognized was standing just inside the doorway, his expression stunned.

He looked up at Angel, and his brow slowly creased in a frown. "You're him."

"I'm... who?' Angel shook his head. "Look, it doesn't matter. You have to let me in."

"I already did," the man said, totally inexplicably because Angel could palpably feel the lack of invite.

Angel put his hand out and gripped the doorframe. He could *smell* Wes inside and now that he paid attention to it, he could smell Edith Benton too. "She's here, isn't she. You have to let me in -- he's going to kill her if I don't stop him."

The man reeked of fear. "She has my family," he said desperately.

That made Angel hesitate, but only for a second or two. "I swear to you that nothing will happen to them," he promised rashly. "But he can't kill her. *Please.* Let me in."

The man stared dumbly at Angel for agonizing seconds before finally stuttering, "If she's d...dead, she can't hurt them. She's... inhuman."

"I know," Angel said, trying to speak gently even though he was desperate with tension. "But you don't want a death on your conscience. Trust me. I know what I'm talking about. I'll make sure she doesn't hurt anyone again."

"I... I'm sorry. I can't let you stop him." The man walked toward the door to close it.

Trembling with frustration, Angel watched as the man came closer, and then suddenly had a thought. "Okay. I understand." He took the paper wrapper from his pocket and held it out. "Just... could you give this to him for me? So he'll know I was here."

Confused, the traumatized man reached out dumbly for the wrapper, and the moment his hand crossed the invisible barrier, Angel grabbed it and yanked hard, pulling the man outside with him. It was a technique that had served Angelus well in the past.

"I don't want to hurt you," Angel told the quivering human, one arm around the man's waist and the other at his throat but not squeezing. "Invite me in."

The man slumped in his arms, clearly half-fainting, but he mumbled something so faintly that not even Angel's ears could catch it. Tentatively, Angel reached out with his hand toward the doorway -- the barrier had gone.

Immediately, Angel entered the dwelling, lowering his captive to the floor and leaving him there as the vampire quickly moved through the house searching for Wes. "Wesley! Where are you? Answer me!"

An answer came from upstairs. "It's too late, Angel."

He found the staircase and was at the top in seconds. Before he could follow the sound of Wes' voice any further, the younger vamp stepped out of a room at the end of the hallway, holding Edith Benton in front of him in much the same way that Angel had just been restraining the man downstairs. The woman's gaze met Angel's -- not afraid, but defiant. Angel fixed his own eyes on Wesley. "You don't have to do this."

Wes was fanged and ridged, and his yellow eyes glinted as he said relatively calmly, "I really do. You won't, and it has to be done. I've had training in doing what has to be done, you know." He bent so that his mouth was just beside her throat, but he kept his eyes locked to Angel's.

Anger and terror warred equally within Angel -- the demon within him, that wanted both Wes' obedience and Edith's death, fighting with his conscience, which only wanted to protect Wesley from what would come later if he took a human life now. "Don't," he said, but his voice didn't sound convincing even to himself.

"She killed Cordy," Wes reminded him. "She killed Connor."

"I know," Angel said. He had to force himself to take a step closer to them. He couldn't let himself think about Cordy and Connor, not if he wanted to stop this. "Wes, listen to me. I know this seems like a good idea right now, but... trust me. It's not."

"She killed *me*, Angel." Wes laughed softly, backing up a step and dragging Edith with him. "Perhaps I should thank her for that. Any last words, Edith?"

"You deserved to die for helping *him,*" Edith said to Wesley, turning her head as if she was trying to remove Angel from her sight completely. Her voice was cold. "And he deserves to suffer in every way possible. The deaths of you and his other friends were only the smallest fraction of what he deserves. 'Vampire with a soul' -- he doesn't have a soul. Nothing with a soul could have done the things he has."

"Which should, by your logic, make you soulless." Wesley smiled coldly. "So Angel, there's no guilt for me here. I'm doing this for everyone we've lost. And I'm doing this to prevent her hurting you further. Don't try to stop me."

It was a clear order, and one Wesley had no right to give. Gazes still locked, Wes lowered his teeth to Edith's neck and bit deep.

Unmoving -- caught between guilt and desire -- Angel stood and watched helplessly as Wes drained her dry.

Inside, he was screaming.

***

Oh good God, this felt glorious. The charge from taking a life was enormous. Wesley could feel Edith's blood coursing through him, making him hard and strong. As he dropped Edith's corpse to the floor, he grinned at Angel from under a lowered brow and lasciviously licked his fangs clean. "It was the right thing to do."

Angel continued to stand there and stare at him for a few seconds more. Then what looked like anger twisted his features, and he flew at Wes, grabbing him and pushing him up against the wall. "God, do you have any idea what you just did? Don't you realise that you're going to have to live with this *forever?*"

"It's very far from being the worse thing I have to live with, Angel," Wes replied pedantically, as usual making no attempt to physically protect himself from Angel's anger. There simply was no point in such an endeavour. "I did what was necessary." He felt himself grin again; he couldn't seem to stop the expression, however unwise. "And I enjoyed it."

He felt himself lifted up by the collar, just an inch or so, and then slammed back into the wall again. His ears rang. "Your enjoyment isn't the point," Angel hissed. "If it had to be done -- and I'm not saying it did -- it should have been me that did it."

Through gritted teeth, Wesley told his sire, "You're wrong. You've suffered enough. I wanted... I *needed* to protect you from that."

Angel's eyes were hard with anger. "Protect me? This is still my fault, Wesley."

Wes instantly understood what Angel meant and bristled with his own anger. "Bullshit! I am my own person and make my own decisions, whether your antiquated ideas of fatherhood allow you to accept that or not." It really was quite ridiculous. Connor had been packed off from the hotel and left to find his own way. Wesley, on the other hand, was expected to surrender all rights to actions and opinions of his own.

It was just like it had been with his human father.

Some complicated emotion flickered across Angel's face, and his hand on Wes' upper arm tightened painfully. "I *made* you. That means I'm responsible for your actions."

Wes glared at his sire, filled with cold fury. To make a point about how much control *he* had over himself, he deliberately changed to his human face before saying, "That's a completely illogical attitude. Apart from anything else, I would have made the same decision souled."

Angel released him abruptly, stepping back. "If that's what you think, you're wrong."

Exasperated, Wes looked momentarily to the ceiling. "Oh, and you knew the human me so very well, didn't you? Have you forgotten what I did, Angel? I certainly haven't. Sometimes terrible decisions have to be made, and I'm trained to make them and cope with the consequences. I'm not saying that -- souled -- I wouldn't have felt guilt concerning her death, but I would've done what was necessary. I always damn well have, no matter how personally damaging the cost."

"You don't know what you're talking about. I've been where you're standing, Wesley. I know what it's like to wake up with a soul and suddenly *care* about all the terrible things you've done."

"Oh, for goodness sake!" Wesley knew he was in danger of really losing his temper, but his sire was being infuriating. "I killed a single psychotic human; you killed thousands of innocents. There's *no* comparison!"

"I haven't forgotten any of them," Angel said, his voice tight with controlled fury as he reached out and grabbed onto the front of Wes' shirt, twisting it to make his point. "Not a *single one.* When you get the soul back, you're going to regret this."

"It's not the only thing I'll regret, that's for sure." Wesley grabbed Angel's face between his thumb and fingers, not caring about increasing his sire's rage. "The last thing you'll ever hear me say, after you put that blasted thing back inside of me, will be me telling you that killing that bitch was the right thing to do."

Something inside of Angel seemed to snap at that -- he pushed Wes harder into the wall, using his entire body to do so. "You are *not* going to leave me," he said. "Do you hear me?"

Wesley paused; even through his anger he recognised that Angel was saying something he'd never said before. "I... I don't want to leave you. Keep me soulless, sire, and I promise I'll stay." He hoped the word 'sire' would please Angel by showing him proper vampiric respect.

But somehow this was the wrong thing to say, as it only angered Angel further. Wesley felt Angel's hand tearing open his shirt, fingers reaching in to pinch his nipples with savage intensity. "You're my boy," Angel said, then leaned in and kissed him. "Mine. And if I say you need a soul, then you're damned well gonna get one."

Wes immediately felt his cock react to the attention, and he kissed Angel back hard. He knew he still carried the taint of Edith's blood in his mouth and so he pressed his tongue into his sire's mouth, wanting to share the marvellous flavour.

Angel shuddered in reaction and moved his hand lower to Wes' cock, squeezing like he wanted to hurt Wes rather than arouse him. "You're gonna do what I say," he repeated, his eyes blazing with fury.

Grunting in pain, Wes nodded. "Yes. Yes, I will." He was becoming a little worried about his sire. Granted the combination of violence and sex wasn't exactly a new one from Angel, but there was something... not right about the older vampire tonight. Wes was starting to worry that he might have pushed Angel too far, and for Wesley's own survival, meek obedience seemed the best course of action for now.

He found himself being turned around, his slacks being undone roughly and yanked down to his knees, and then Angel was shoving what felt like two fingers inside of him, dry. The pain was like a vicious burn. "Yeah, you like it, don't you," Angel growled, although his voice sounded strangely flat, as if he wasn't getting anything out of this.

Gritting his teeth against the invasion that somehow seemed utterly unerotic, Wesley asked, "Angel?" and when he got no immediate answer beyond another thrusting of hard fingers, he tentatively tried, "Angelus?"

"Shut up," Angel said immediately, using his other hand in the small of Wes' back to press him against the wall more forcefully. "You want to do it right here over her body, don't you. Turns you on." The probing fingers twisted, and Wesley felt himself tear slightly.

"Dear God, Angel. Put your hand around the front -- do I feel turned on to you?" Wesley had actually forgotten the body was there, and while he really couldn't care less what they did beside the dead bitch, he knew Angel would -- once he recovered from whatever strange fugue state he was currently in, anyway. Wes had to somehow get them out of here.

"I know you want it," Angel said, again in that oddly flat tone.

Denial was probably pointless so Wes tried a different tack. "Look at her, Angel. Look at Edith's corpse. How are you going to feel tomorrow when you wake and realise you raped me by the drained body of my first victim?"

After a few seconds of silence, Angel stepped back away from him, letting go of Wesley entirely. When Wes turned to look at him, the expression on Angel's face was one of confusion, as his sire looked down at the woman's body where it lay crumpled on the floor. "I... don't..."

Feeling undeniable relief, but knowing it wasn't over yet, Wes quickly refastened his trousers and then stepped tentatively closer to his sire. Speaking very gently, almost as if Angel was a scared child, Wes said, "We should go home now. The sun will be up soon, and we should go home before it is."

"What?" There was uncertainty reflected in Angel's eyes, and he moved away from Wesley, his gaze flickering back to Edith's corpse.

"Angel?" Very bravely, Wes placed his hand in his sire's and tugged. "Come on now. Time to go home." Angel shook his head slightly, like he was trying to clear it, but he went along with Wesley co-operatively enough, a fact that disturbed Wes as much as it pleased him.

Joe wasn't downstairs when the two vamps got down there, which Wes could only consider a good thing. He led Angel out into the street and started walking him home. His sire was silent, and the bewilderment in the dark eyes made Wesley anxious. He kept up a slow and occasional monologue as they walked, trying to soothe the older vampire and keep Angel from slipping further away from reality.

"They're all dead, aren't they," Angel asked finally, as they neared the hotel. His voice was still flat, and it sounded more as if he was looking for confirmation than consolation.

Glad that his sire was talking, although not sure what the right thing to say in reply would be, Wes squeezed the large hand in his in what he hoped was a comforting way. "I'm afraid so. There's nothing left to do but move on now."

Angel didn't respond. Something about the way his shoulders were slumped spoke of sheer exhaustion to Wesley. It was as if all his energy, everything that kept Angel going, had suddenly run out. Wes had seen his friend desperate and exhausted on many occasions, but he'd never seen Angel looking quite like this before. The younger vampire swallowed his fear, knowing it was vital he stayed strong for now.

They reached the hotel, and Wes pushed open the door, guiding Angel through. "We'll go straight upstairs, I think," he commented, still feeling that it was important to talk to his sire, no matter how facile the conversation. As they climbed to the third floor, Angel remained silent, leaving Wesley to wonder what was going on inside his head -- if indeed anything was. Every few moments, Angel would glance at Wesley, as if checking to see that he was still there.

"I'm not going anywhere," Wes reassured, opening the door to Angel's suite. He was feeling a tinge of something that he would have described as shame, if he still had a soul to experience it with. "Tonight was a unique situation. You won't wake up and find me gone again. I promise."

Angel nodded, but looked unconvinced.

Standing in the middle of the suite, Wes pondered what would be best to do. He decided that removing the scent of Edith from himself would probably be a good idea, but he didn't want to leave Angel on his own. The solution was obvious. Still clasping his sire's hand, Wesley pulled Angel slowly into the bathroom.

Angel remained passive as Wesley undressed him carefully, and then watched as Wes efficiently stripped off his own clothing and started up the shower. The fact that Angel was aware of Wesley's presence --indeed, was very attentive to it-- was definitely encouraging.

After tugging Angel under the streaming water jet, Wes quickly, but thoroughly, cleansed himself and then set to a more gentle bathing of his sire's body. His touches were designed to soothe and reassure. "I'm here, Angel," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm with you for good now." He smiled weakly and tried to make the older vampire meet his eyes. "You're stuck with me."

A hand, that Wesley thought might have been trembling a little, reached out and touched his cheek. "I did this," Angel said.

"You made me, yes," Wesley nodded. "And that's a good thing, Angel. I'm here to look after you as a result. You're very important to the world, and I intend to ensure that you stay that way."

Angel shook his head, so minutely that if Wesley hadn't been watching him so intently, he wouldn't have seen it. "I shouldn't have..." Angel trailed off, looking down. "I knew."

Wincing, Wesley pushed back down the anger at yet another rejection and encouraged Angel to leave the shower. He towelled them both down and then led his sire to the bed. "Get in, Angel. I'll warm you up some blood."

Obeying to at least some degree, Angel sat on the edge of the bed. Wesley could feel Angel's eyes on him as he moved into the small kitchen and began to heat some blood in the microwave. Returning with the warm mug, Wes pushed it into his sire's hands, not letting go until he was sure Angel was gripping it.

Angel sat quietly, looking down at the mug, for nearly a minute, and then closed his eyes. "I can't." His voice shook.

"Okay," Wes said agreeably, carefully not letting his deep concern be heard in his voice. He took the mug back from Angel and drank it himself, thinking that it should help wash the taste of Edith from his mouth in case of the unlikely event that Angel would feel like kissing him. The taste of the pig's blood was quite deeply unpleasant after the glory that had been living humanity.

Lifting Angel's legs, Wes tried to settle his sire properly in the bed. As before, Angel co-operated willingly enough, curling up on his side facing Wesley and moving far enough over that there was room for Wes to lie down as well. His eyes remained open, watching.

As it was clearly expected, and anyway, Wes wanted to be as close as possible to Angel currently, he slipped under the covers and lay facing his sire. Tentatively, he reached out and touched Angel's face. "I'm here. I'm with you." Angel put his own arm around Wesley's waist even more tentatively, as if afraid he'd be rebuffed.

Taking that as permission, Wes snuggled closer, pressing his body against his sire's in a non-sexual way, providing contact and therefore, hopefully, comfort. "I'm here," he repeated. "Would you talk to me?" Angel's arm around him tightened, and the larger vampire buried his face in the curve between Wes' neck and shoulder.

After a moment or two, Wesley could feel Angel making an obvious effort to relax, but he didn't speak. Wes stroked his sire's damp hair, kissing it softly, and wondering if encouraging Angel to feed from him could be helpful... probably not, considering the other vampire was apparently feeling so guilty for having made Wesley. Perhaps sleep would be the best thing for both of them.

They'd been lying quietly for some time, and Wesley was nearly convinced that Angel had fallen asleep, when the arm around his waist suddenly tightened again, and he both heard and felt Angel's muffled sob.

Oh lord.

"Angel, I'm sorry," Wes found himself saying, stroking the shuddering back. "I never meant to bring you more pain; I was trying to protect you from it."

Angel groaned deeply, as if in agony, and he tried to push Wesley away, but there was no strength behind it. "I can't," he managed to get out. "Don't... I don't want to." It was abundantly clear that he was trying to fight emotional breakdown.

Angel's pain was surprisingly difficult for Wesley to cope with. "Let it out," he told Angel, taking a risk and cuddling the bigger vampire as close as he could. "Holding onto this will only hurt you further. I'm here, and I'm going nowhere. Take it out on me if you need to, but do let it out. Please. I... I hate seeing you like this."

"You think I don't?" Angel asked, pulling back to look Wesley in the eye. "You think I like looking at you and seeing... *this,* and knowing that I did this to you?"

Wesley felt his face grimace as the hurt and anger welled up again, but it would do no good here; he couldn't allow it to surface. Angel was broken, and Wesley had to somehow try to mend him.

Suddenly realising it as the truth, Wesley said quietly, "Angel, it isn't *me* you hate. Souled and alive, or unsouled and dead, I'm still basically the same person, and you know it. No, you hate what *you* are, and therefore, can't stand seeing it in me." He took a deep and somehow necessary breath, and when he spoke, his voice was unavoidably thickened with emotion. "Angel, I love you. I love being yours, and being what you made me. I love the idea that I can be with you forever now. Please stop hating yourself. You're the most admirable person I've ever bloody well met."

Angel's hands grabbed onto Wesley with bruising force, and Wes could feel him trembling, and then Angel just... collapsed. His hold on Wes loosened, his hands remaining where they were, but no longer grasping. Angel's face was hidden against Wesley's chest as he tried to stifle his sobs. It sounded like he was trying to talk, but Wesley couldn't understand him.

"Angel? If it's important that I hear, you need to lift your face." Wesley's hands continued to gentle his sire.

"I'm..." Angel choked out, then moved slightly, just enough so that his voice wasn't muffled against Wesley's skin. "I'm sorry. God, Wes, I'm so sorry..."

Presuming that Angel was apologising for siring him, Wes kissed the top of his head and said, "You have nothing to apologise for. I'm happy to be able to still be with you."

Angel held Wes tightly. "Don't leave me."

"I won't," Wesley promised blithely, knowing the soul might make that a lie. "I'm yours. I... I always have been, you know."

But Angel didn't seem to hear him, and just repeated, "Don't leave. It's why I... I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to lose you."

Wesley sighed quietly and moved his hand to lift his sire's head so that their eyes could meet. "I'm yours forever now, Angel. *Forever*." It was an irrational thing to claim as either one of them could be staked as soon as tomorrow, but all Wes cared about currently was somehow getting through to his traumatised sire. "You'll never be alone again."

Angel slid a hand into Wesley's hair and moved up to kiss him. There was nothing sexual about it -- it was a kiss of desperation. Wes could almost taste the sorrow in his sire's mouth. After a moment, Angel broke the kiss and went back to holding Wesley tightly, sighing. Wesley could feel the larger vampire relaxing, very slowly, in his arms.

They held each other close until they were both very deeply asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

_I'll even wear these old laurel leaves that he's shaken from his head..._

 

Angel woke up feeling confused.

It was like the entire night before had been some weird kind of dream -- like he'd been drugged, maybe. He could remember everything, but only through a haze that turned it all blurry and nightmarish. He remembered Wes killing Edith, and then there was a vague, sickening memory of pushing Wes up against a wall and... Angel groaned softly and pressed his face into Wes' shoulder, taking comfort in his boy's presence.

Wesley stirred beside him, and Angel felt a soft hand move over his back. "Angel?"

He didn't know what to say. Jesus, what the hell had happened to him? What the hell had he tried to do? Suddenly needing to know for sure, Angel pulled back and touched Wes' face, searching it for injuries. "Did I... did I hurt you?"

Wes blinked his eyes a few times and then focused on Angel, looking a little confused. "No... have you been dreaming?"

"I don't know." Angel ran his hands down over Wes' body, relaxing as his touch found nothing but unbroken skin and bone. "You're okay?"

"I'm fine," Wesley insisted, but patiently allowed to examination to continue. "Angel, how are *you* feeling?"

"Okay." He shook his head. "Um... a little worried. What happened last night?"

"What do you remember?" Wesley asked, frowning with what looked like concern.

Angel reached to smooth the wrinkles off of Wes' forehead. "I remember; I just wasn't sure it was real. But it was, wasn't it?"

"That really depends what you remember," the fledgling answered with a small worried chuckle. He pushed slightly against Angel's fingers, responding to the touch like a cat.

"Edith," Angel admitted finally. "And then I tried to... Jesus." If he'd gone through with fucking Wes next to Edith's body... "Thanks," he said. "For, you know... stopping me."

"I didn't want you to hurt yourself." Wesley's hand started smoothing Angel's back again.

Angel didn't know how long this little interlude was going to last -- how long he'd let it last -- but he needed the comfort so badly that he let Wesley give it. He pressed his body closer to Wes', buried his face in Wes' throat, licking and sucking gently. He didn't want to feed; he just wanted to hide.

"I'm here," Wesley said soothingly. "I'm staying." While the younger vampire kept his voice soft and calm, Angel could feel Wes' body respond to the attention it was being shown.

Had he been wrong? Maybe it wasn't necessary for him to play the strict sire all the time, if the fledgling actually had reason to obey and didn't need threats. Angel wasn't sure he was ready to accept that, although Wes' protective behavior made the theory harder to deny. "You promised you'd stay," he remembered.

Wesley pulled back enough to meet Angel's eyes. "Always," he promised again.

Angel nodded slowly. "Good," he said. Because vampire or not, reminder or not, Angel wanted Wes. Needed him. He kissed Wes once, fiercely, then pulled back and pulled himself together. "Come on," he said, glancing at the clock and the window. "Sun'll be down in a couple of hours. We need to get ready to hit the road."

Wesley looked at him dubiously. "I'm not sure there's any need to run, Angel. I suspect Joe will deal with the body discreetly, but we can always head back there and check."

"I'm not worried about that," Angel said truthfully. "We've got to go pick up that orb." Now that Edith had been... taken care of, for better or worse, it was time to focus on other things.

Wesley's expression hardened. "Right." He turned sharply away from Angel and sat up on the edge of the bed.

The urge to continue things as they'd been for the last little while -- with Wes feeling more like an equal -- was strong, and Angel slid quickly to the edge of the bed, one leg on either side of Wesley. He wrapped both arms around the slighter man and held him. "Trust me. Please, Wes... I need you with me on this."

While Wesley yielded to the embrace and even made a little effort to return it, his voice was pained. "You're asking too much. I can promise obedience, I can withhold my opinions, but no matter how much I want to please you -- and I do -- I can't force myself to feel happy about your plan."

"Okay. Okay, I get that." Angel ran a hand up and down Wes' chest. "And I'm sorry. It's gonna turn out all right in the end, I promise." He'd make sure it did, no matter what the cost.

Wes made a small noise and leant back against Angel.

"Shh," Angel said comfortingly. "You're my boy. You just do what I tell you, and everything's gonna be okay."

 

Two hours later they were on the road in Wes' car, bags on the back seat, weapons in the trunk. Just in case. Wesley had printed the directions to Eugene, Oregon from the computer, and they were taped to the dashboard. They were pretty damn simple though -- interstate 5 all the way, which currently meant featureless nighttime desert. Wes had suggested Angel drive, which was kind of weird since Wesley was usually a bit protective of his car, but Angel was grateful for it. He needed something to do with his hands, and he'd probably have insisted on taking the wheel anyway.

Maybe Wes had realized that.

Wes had asked if they could stop by his apartment to get some more of his things before they left town. The request had just reinforced for Angel the fact that Wes was still, well, *Wes,* since Angel hadn't failed to notice that Wesley had taken more than just clothes and toiletries when they'd stopped. Books, favorite weapons, and classical music CDs had also slipped into the bags.

Angel's gut was still tight, his fingers on the wheel clenching and unclenching as his brain kept churning the same stuff over and over again. Finally, unable to take the silence -- and wasn't *that* a switch -- he started, "So what d'you think...?" He had to clear his throat and try again. "What do you think that was? Um, last night, I mean."

Wes frowned at him, not angry, just puzzled. "Which particular aspect of last night?"

"You know. The whole..." Angel made a little 'crazy' gesture, one finger spinning in circles near his temple. "I don't know. Breakdown."

"Oh." Wesley's expression was now sympathetic. "You've been through a lot, Angel. A lesser person would have broken down far earlier and for much longer. You shouldn't feel ashamed about a single night of not coping."

Jesus, now he had Wes feeling sorry for him. "I'm not ashamed," he said tightly, although he didn't think that was exactly true. "Just... you don't think it'll happen again?" He could hear the need for reassurance in his own voice and hated it.

No." Wesley's tone was confident. "I don't think it will. You still have considerable bereavement to recover from, but I think the... breakdown was a one off occurrence. Try not to worry about it."

Wes probably knew more about emotional stuff than Angel did despite the more than two hundred years age difference. You'd think all that brooding would have been good for something, but if nothing else, Angel thought he knew his own limitations, and understanding psychological issues was one of those. Weird thing was, Angelus had never had a problem getting under people's skin, in any sense of the phrase. But Angel wasn't Angelus; he was both more and less than the soulless version of himself.

"Stuff like that happens to people a lot, huh?" he asked his knowledgeable fledgling.

"Of course. The trick, I believe, is to bend and not break."

Angel snorted. "Guess I need someone to show me that trick then." He sighed and deliberately loosened his grip on the steering wheel.

The journey continued in silence for a while. They listened to some of Wesley's CDs and watched the dark desert slide past them. Several times, Angel opened his mouth to say something casual, but each time he thought better of it, since it either involved talking about their dead friends or about, well, things that weren't actually casual at all.

Eventually, Wes turned the sound down on the CD player and asked, "Have you ever been to Oregon before?"

Angel glanced over at Wes -- interesting that they both seemed to feel a need to fill the silence -- then returned his eyes to the road. He considered the question. "Once. I think. I did a lot of wandering, after... you know."

"You've never really talked a great deal about your past," Wes pointed out. "I suppose there must be relatively few places that you haven't visited or at least passed through."

"Yeah." Trouble was, he didn't want to remember most of it. Before the soul, all the memories were tainted with death, and after, he'd been so haunted... He tried to turn the question back around on Wes. "You? I mean, have you done a lot of travelling?"

"Not really, no. There were various educational visits to European cities when I was a student or young Watcher. But my first big trip was to Sunnydale." He smiled over at Angel. "Of course, having been to Pylea makes me considerably more well-travelled than most hu--" He stopped and laughed uncertainly. "It's surprisingly easy to forget at times."

That hadn't been a problem for Angelus, but then, this wasn't the first time that Angel had recognized that Wes -- the undead version of Wes -- was different -- different from Angelus, different from Spike. He realized that Wes was waiting for him to say something. "You're too smart for your own good," he commented, with a little grin. "Guess it's good to know some things don't change."

"I'm not certain why you say that," Wesley said, smiling, "being as I just showed a stunning lack of awareness about my own, um, condition. But thank you."

Angel slowed down and drove wide around a coyote eating carrion at the side of the road, its muzzle blood stained and its eyes small metallic surfaces in the car's headlight beams.

Wes said quietly, "I'd love to hear about your journeys. Perhaps those from the days when you were the Scourge of Europe." He used the term almost fondly.

This wasn't the kind of small talk Angel'd had in mind, but still, it might be better than sitting here caught up in his own thoughts. "Mostly we just went wherever Darla's whim led us," he said. "She'd get an idea in her head and off we'd go. Or, you know, sometimes Dru'd get all crazy about something and she wouldn't shut up until we went where she wanted."

"So it was always the women who were the impetus to move on?"

"Or to stay," Angel said. "Not always, but most of the time. Sometimes we didn't have a choice -- it was hard to stay in one place too long without people figuring out what we were, getting suspicious... and Spike was never one for obeying the rules."

Wesley cast him a look. "Is it permissible for me to ask about Spike?"

"Sure." Angel wondered if he'd given Wes some reason to think it wasn't okay.

After seeming to contemplate his question at length, Wesley said simply, "Your relationship with him seems to have been complicated."

Angel snorted. "Not really. He'd mouth off, I'd beat the crap out of him, rinse and repeat. Never could figure out if it was because he was stupid or just stubborn."

"Was...?" Wes hesitated, then spoke on regardless. "Was it sexual? Between you and him?"

"You kidding?" Angel looked at Wes incredulously. "Hell, yeah. Though you'd think I'd have learned that I couldn't fuck respect into him, no matter how many times I tried." He could feel a little smile playing at the edges of his lips at the memory of Spike's body beneath his, the sheer animal savagery of it singing through him.

Wesley was quiet for a while, and when Angel glanced his way, he saw the fledgling was staring out of the side window.

The sulking act was getting old fast, but somehow Angel couldn't help but feel bad for Wes. None of this was the guy's fault, after all -- he'd been unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now he was paying the price for Angel's mistakes. Angel's *many* mistakes... "You okay?" Angel asked finally.

Wesley looked around and smiled. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm just wondering how we compare -- Spike and I, that is."

"You're taller," Angel said, with a grin.

"Thank you," Wes replied dryly.

"Wasn't a compliment," Angel said. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, considering the question more carefully. "Well, you're smarter, for one. And yes, that *was* a compliment."

"From what I know of Spike, I'm certainly glad to hear that. What I meant was, how do we compare in the role as your... " Wes seemed stuck for a word; finally he opted for a weak, "Apprentice?"

That was harder to answer, for more reasons than one. Deciding to go with honest, Angel said, "Well, either you're a faster learner because you're smart, or you being so smart makes it easier for you to fake it."

"Or perhaps what you require of us is different?" the fledgling suggested gently.

Angel was starting to get a headache from all this thinking. Bad enough that they had to live with it, did they really have to analyze it to death too? "Maybe?" he said. "I don't know. Yeah, I guess. I mean, I just wanted him to behave."

"To obey you," Wes clarified, seemingly to himself. "Is that important to all vampire sires?"

"I'm not his sire," Angel said flatly. "I mean, I did what I had to, to keep him in line, since Dru was... well, kinda out of it most of the time. In her own little world, you know?" He went on without waiting for Wes' response. "And I didn't want him to obey me, so much as not get into trouble. Not get *us* into trouble. If he'd had a little more self-control, been able to realize that his actions had consequences, it would've been different."

"All actions have consequences."

"There, see? You already know." Angel wondered if praise made any difference to Wes really, or if he just acted like it did. "I'm not gonna lie and tell you I'm thrilled with everything you've done, but... I know you're trying. For whatever reason. And that means a lot."

"Don't you ever...?" Wes paused again. "Do you ever question yourself? Your certainty?"

"About what?"

Wesley didn't answer, and after a while, he turned the volume back up on the CD player.

 

The rest of the journey passed pleasantly -- equal amounts of easygoing chatter and companionable silence. By the time they could both feel the approach of dawn in their bones, Angel was pulling into the car lot of the motel Wesley had chosen for them to spend the day in.

A little later, with the hotel room's heavy drapes closed against the dangers of the rising sun, Angel stripped them both naked, taking Wes into the shower and washing them both clean of the road. Wes' body was cool and supple, slippery against his. Despite their mutual eagerness, Angel refused to let their touches move past the sensual into the sexual until they'd moved to the bed.

Once there, Wesley raised himself on his hands and knees astride Angel and grinned playfully down at him. Wes teased by almost but not quite kissing Angel's lips before pulling away. Angel felt his head rise automatically in an attempt to follow, making Wesley chuckle. This was a side of Wes that Angel hadn't seen too often; just enough to have known it existed and feel sad that he didn't see it more.

Angel grabbed the back of Wes' neck and pulled him down, kissing him and almost laughing when Wes mock-struggled to get away. "Still stronger than you," Angel said with a grin.

"Always will be," Wes agreed, seeming pleased by the knowledge. He continued to try to get away, his struggles somehow appearing to mean he had to squirm all over Angel in the process.

Wrapping an arm around Wes' waist to hold him still, Angel thrust upward, feeling his erection slide against Wesley's hip bone. It wasn't enough. "Want your mouth on me," he said, closer to a request than an order.

Grinning, Wes slid and wriggled down Angel's body, raising himself back to his hands and knees when his head reached Angel's cock. "Ask nicely then."

"Please suck me," Angel said obediently. Then, trying to stifle a chuckle, he added, "Or I'll break your jaw."

Wesley, well, giggled. And it was cute. Wes had such a huge grin when he actually let it out, and it always warmed Angel to see it. But the giggle did more than warm; for some reason the sound went straight to Angel's cock. So when Wesley's wet mouth did indeed descend upon his shaft, Angel groaned.

"Good boy," he said, running his fingers through Wes' hair. He closed his eyes as Wes sucked him harder. "If you're a *really* good boy, I'll fuck you. You want me to do that?"

Wesley made a moaning noise around his cock, so Angel guessed the answer was 'yes', especially when Wes started working harder than ever to please. Wes had learned satisfyingly quickly just what Angel liked. The fledgling only had to be shown once, or at the most twice, and he remembered. Then started improvising.

Teeth scraped down his length, and Angel bucked up into the receptive throat. Wes was good, almost too good, at this.

"Get up here," he growled, dragging Wes back up the length of his body and pulling Wes' thighs apart so that the fledgling's knees were to either side of Angel's waist. He teased Wes with the tip of his cock briefly, then slid a finger back and pushed it into Wes, who gasped.

"Please. Oh Angel, please..."

"Please what?" God, it was just about killing him not to be inside Wes, but he wanted to hear him say it.

Wesley locked gazes with him and said in an intense voice. "Please. I want you in me. Please fuck me. Angel, *please.*"

His cock dripping with Wes' saliva and his own pre-come, Angel slid inside Wes slowly, being more gentle than he had in their time together so far. His hands gripped Wes' hips tightly, betraying how hard it was to retain this kind of control. "Jesus. Wes."

Unable to move, due to Angel's tight grip, Wesley chose instead to clench his internal muscles, taking little gasping breaths as he did so. He pushed, flat-handed, up Angel's belly and lower chest, meeting his gaze. "Please."

Angel lifted his head to capture Wes' mouth, kissing him fiercely, then loosened his hold on Wes and started thrusting, not even trying to contain the groan that welled up in his chest as he did so. Wes was so fucking tight and moving to meet him... "That's it," Angel said encouragingly. "That's my boy."

"Yes, yours," Wes agreed, his voice rough with desire and pleasure. "Your boy. Yours. God..." They were moving so fast, vampire fast, Wesley's ass slamming into Angel's hips again and again, both of them grunting, sounding almost animal with the effort and sensation of it all.

"You want to come?" Angel asked, reaching to fondle Wes' rock-hard erection as he thrust still harder.

Wesley nodded raggedly. "Please. God, please." He clenched his ass muscles again, threatening to drive Angel to distraction. Through gritted teeth and a little half-smile, Wes asked, "Please may I come, sire?"

Feeling his own release not far off, Angel stroked Wes' cock firmly, slowing down his own thrusting, but not lessening the force. "Come, Wes."

"Oh," Wes said very quietly.

And then started to whimper, his body tensed and jerking as his head was thrown back, and he came violently across Angel's chest.

Wes' muscles clenched around Angel's cock in waves, making Angel shudder with the effort to hold back. It felt unbelievably good -- so good that he didn't want it to end. As Wes' own orgasm faded, the fledgling recovered enough to look down at Angel again, blue eyes locked on his. Angel shuddered again and thrust harder. Just a few more seconds.

"I love you," Wesley told him quietly. "I've loved you for so long."

A loud groan ripped itself from Angel's throat as he came, the pressure that had been building releasing itself in a series of spasms that left him limp and sated.

For about five minutes, until Wesley grinned and clenched his ass muscles again, and Angel felt himself start to harden once more.

It was going to be a good, long day.

***

Angel's arm wrapped around Wesley from behind, pulling him in close with his back against the bigger vampire's chest. "Hope you had as much fun as I did," Angel murmured, nuzzling the side of Wesley's throat.

Wes allowed himself to lean back against Angel briefly. "That was one of the most luxuriously decadent days I think I've ever spent."

The sun having set, they were in the process of leaving the motel that they'd spent the day in, just a few hours being now left of their journey to Eugene. Having nothing to do in their room during the sunlit hours bar sleep and have sex, they'd opted mostly for the latter. And it had been good, really quite exceedingly good.

Angel was noticeably different since his breakdown two days ago. While part of Wes was cynically convinced it was largely illusion, his sire now seemed intent on treating him more as a subordinate adult than the child he had clearly been to Angel before Edith's death. Could it be that the older vampire was finally realising that Wesley had control of himself?

That his decisions were calculated and deliberate? That he was not about to run amok?

Wesley wasn't stupid. The forces in him were strong, and he realised that the danger of temporarily losing control of himself was high, especially if Angel took it into his head to starve him again. But Wes had spent his life repressing intensely strong emotions that no one had known he'd had, and therefore was far more practised with self-control than his sire perhaps understood.

Not that Wesley had shown much restraint during the day they'd just spent together, but he hadn't seen the need for it, and Angel seemed pleased whenever his attentions had Wes resorting to wanton begging behaviour for more. More touch, more passion, more pain, more penetration, more... Angel. Wesley had found he was pretty much insatiable for the older vampire in general.

"There can be more days like this," Angel told him, running a hand down Wesley's chest and hooking a thumb into the waistband of Wes' jeans possessively.

"I'd like that." It was an understatement, of course. Wes lazily rubbed his arse back against Angel. It appeared that, after collecting the blasted orb, they were heading straight to Sunnydale. This would necessitate another such stay in a motel. Wesley intended to make the most of it, as after the soul reinsertion, he continued to doubt such closeness would ever happen again.

He'd stopped arguing about the soul, realising it was a pointless endeavour, and in fact they had both stopped talking about it, mentioning the orb and Sunnydale in passing without ever discussing the reason for either. But that certainly didn't mean Wesley was happy with the idea, or even that he was resigned to his fate; it was just that he had no arguments left that he could make.

Or none he felt safe enough to express, anyway.

He knew that once the damned thing was put back inside him, it would be there to stay, as his souled self simply wasn't capable of perfect happiness. There was a great deal to be said for life -- existence -- without a superego to constantly berate you for everything you said and did, and Wes wasn't in any way eager to return to life under the thumb.

Angel's fingers brushed over the front of Wesley's jeans, then his sire moved away, patting Wes' arse as he did so. "Come on, let's get going."

Nodding, Wesley bent to pick up their bags and left the motel room.

 

It didn't take long to get on their way again. The landscape now was easier on the eye than the endless desert of most of yesterday's drive, although it was nowhere near so smooth a drive, mountains making for a twisting, undulating road. But the deep green of the conifer-covered slopes was very attractive in the twilight, as were the snow-capped peaks.

For a while, the road ran along side a rapid flowing river, which Wes enjoyed, despite being the driver for this stretch of the journey. He found it interesting that he could still enjoy simple pleasures such as attractive scenery. That was not a behaviour that he'd really ever considered for unsouled vampires. Clearly, the appreciation of beauty did not require a soul.

He glanced over to Angel, "We should have done this before, you know. All of us."

Angel didn't turn his head, continuing to look out the window as they drove. "Yeah. You're right."

Wes winced, deciding too late that he shouldn't talk about the others. Not yet, not in fact for a long time. While he missed and mourned for them all, he recognised that Angel's pain ran so much deeper because of the guilt the older vampire felt concerning everything that had happened.

He tried a different tact. "Have you ever hunted in places like this? The animals, that is."

"Yeah, sometimes." Angel's mind was clearly on something else.

Wes shot him another glance. "Have I done something wrong?"

"What?" Angel sounded startled, then reached out to pat Wesley's thigh. "No. Sorry. I'm just... thinking."

"Thinking or brooding?" Wes asked, smiling.

Angel's lips twisted into something not quite a grin. "Little bit of both?" he offered.

"Am I permitted to know what about?"

There was a long pause, during which Wesley started to wonder if Angel was going to answer at all. Finally, Angel said, "How things are going to be. You know, after."

"Oh."

"Knew you weren't gonna like it," Angel muttered.

Wesley was saved from answering further by a distraction on the road ahead. A quick appraisal of what he could see convinced Wes that a car had hit at least one hiker, perhaps two. There was blood, which he could smell through the open window, and crying, shocked looking humans standing on the wayside.

Wesley indicated to move into the other lane in order to drive around the incident.

"What are you...?" Angel started to ask, then his voice hardened. "Pull over."

"Why?" Wesley asked, although he never considered disobeying, immediately indicating and pulling in to the side of the road.

There was no response to his question -- as soon as the car was nearly stopped, Angel got out and headed for the injured pedestrians, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Wesley that was difficult to translate. Was he meant to follow? Or to remain where he was? In the end, he compromised and got out of the car and leant against it, his arms folded, while he watched to see what Angel was up to.

One bloodied person was sitting on the edge of the breakdown lane, holding what looked like a white t-shirt to her leg to staunch the flow of blood. She was crying, her breath hitching in her chest and her face tear-stained.

The other victim of the accident was laid out unconscious on the pavement, limbs crooked, surrounded by people who were trying to help. Wesley watched as Angel looked at her awkwardly, then, seemingly deciding to leave the crowd to deal with her, turned to the sobbing woman.

"Let me see," Angel said gently, moving the cloth away from her leg for a brief instant and then pressing it firmly back onto the wound. "Okay, it's okay. You're gonna be fine."

Wesley wondered how Angel could possibly resist the smell of fresh flowing human blood from so close up. He hoped they weren't going to waste too much time here. While he waited for Angel to come back, Wes calculated the rest of the journey, both to Eugene for the Orb, and then on to Sunnydale. He supposed they could afford to waste a little time, but really, was catering to strangers so very necessary? He'd prefer to keep the spare time in reserve for dealing with any emergencies that might occur. Emergencies involving them and not hapless irrelevant humans on the wayside.

An ambulance came up the road behind them, pulling to a stop in front of the accident scene. Paramedics jumped out and started immediately to investigate and then patch up the injured parties. Angel waited until the woman he'd been assisting was being helped before backing off, a bit awkwardly, then coming back to the car. He got into the passenger seat without a word to Wesley, and closed the door with a slam that seemed a bit more forceful than necessary.

Wes assumed the proximity to blood had been as hard on Angel as he'd thought, and before getting in, he went to the trunk and removed a pint of pig's blood from the cool box. After getting back into the driver's seat, he offered it to his sire. "I know it's not the same, but it will help," he said gently.

"No," Angel said. He sounded as if he were trying to hide anger beneath the flat steely quality of his voice.

Frowning, Wes placed the bag under his chair and started the car again. There was a difficult silence for a few miles, wherein Wes considered his sire and came to the uneasy conclusion that Angel was angry with him for not caring about the injured humans.

It was quite illogical for his sire to expect a creature with no conscience to care about people he did not know, but logic had never been Angel's strong suit. And really, Wes had no excuse, as he'd understood from the start that Angel wanted -- needed -- him to act as human as he possibly could.

Grimacing, Wesley said quietly, "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Yeah." Angel cleared his throat. "Won't be much longer now anyway."

The rest of the journey was silent and tense, and although they actually made good time getting to their destination, the couple of hours seemed to Wesley to crawl by.

He spent most of the time silently dwelling on his situation, and as they drove through the streets of Eugene, looking for the correct shop, Wes was feeling both angry at his sire for the apparently perpetual unreasonableness, and upset that Angel was disappointed in him.

Wesley was quite self-aware; he knew exactly where in his personal psychology the craving for Angel's approval stemmed from. And to be fair, Angel 'gave' a lot more in terms of affection and approbation than Wesley's human father had ever done. That just seemed to make it even harder, however, when the pleasant attention was withdrawn.

Sighing noiselessly to himself, Wes pulled the SUV up outside the Doorway to Akasha, the shop they were looking for. To Wesley's quiet amusement, it looked more like a British curry house than a magic store, with its red and tan paintwork and shrine to Ganesh in the window. It also looked shut.

"Are they expecting us?" he asked, breaking the two-hour silence.

"Um... yeah. At some point. Maybe not tonight though." Angel sounded dismayed, but got out of the car anyway.

Wes got out and locked up. He walked to the shop door and peered through the small borders of clear glass around the many notices and signs blu-tacked to the other side. He couldn't see any movement or light within, but as he saw no reason why not to, he rapped sharply on the door.

"Forget it," Angel said, his tone of voice broadcasting his self-disgust so loudly that Wes felt sure anyone could have heard it. "We'll have to come back tomorrow. Call and see if they can stay open long enough past sunset for us to get it."

Wes quickly weighed up between spending another day in a motel room with Angel, not necessarily such a pleasant prospect with his sire in this mood, and persisting in an attempt to attract the attention of the shop's proprietor. And that in order to obtain an object that Wesley most certainly didn't want. He decided to show willing, although he doubted Angel would notice.

"Let's not give up quite so quickly?" Wes suggested gently, knocking again on the door. Hmm, was that movement he heard within?

"Did you hear something?" Angel asked, stepping closer and putting his hand on the small of Wesley's back.

"Yes," Wesley nodded, still peering through the door window. "Here comes someone."

They waited another thirty seconds or so, and then heard the click of a lock being turned before the door opened, revealing a short, heavy-set Indian man who was probably in his sixties. He was wearing a turban, but the rest of his clothes were Western in style and casual in appearance.

"Closed we are, and for several hours now," he said, but there was a quirky smile on his face.

"Yeah, we're sorry about that," Angel said, reaching into his wallet and offering the man one of his cards. "That's me... Angel. I called a couple of days ago? About the Thesulan Orb?"

The shop owner declined to take the card, although he read it from Angel's hand with apparent interest, nodding and smiling. "Ah, Mr just-Angel, I am remembering. Your Orb is being behind the counter." The man turned, and flicking on light switches, he walked back into the shop leaving the door open.

Wes watched Angel hesitate, then put the card back into his wallet and take out a handful of cash instead. His sire started to step through the doorway, but froze.

"Problem?" Wes asked quietly.

"Guess when he said protections, he wasn't kidding," Angel said, pushing against what was obviously an invisible barrier with one hand.

"Hmm, on public premises?" Wes pondered, testing the barrier himself. "That's impressive."

"I am glad you are thinking so, young sir," the Indian man said, returning to the door with a square box in his hands.

Angel gestured with the money. "What do I owe you?"

"That is being four hundred dollars, sir. The price is increasing since the Romanian grimoire returned into circulation. You will please be putting the money in my mailslot." He began to shut the door.

"Um... what about me getting the orb?" Angel asked quickly.

"All in good time will come to those who patient are being," the proprietor said with a smile, and shut the door. Wesley chuckled.

"What the hell does that mean?" Angel groused, looking around for the mailslot and pushing a wad of cash through it, apparently without having counted it first.

"I like him," Wes commented in a tone he judged couldn't be heard through the door. "Canny old bugger."

There was a short pause and the door opened again. The shopkeeper had put the box, together with a small wad of notes -- the excess, Wes presumed -- on the floor just to the other side of the barrier. "Thanking you for your business," the man said, as he gently pushed the box halfway through with his toe. "The blessings of Ganesh upon your undertaking."

"Um... right. Thanks." Angel pocketed the money, then carefully picked up the box, cradling it in his arms. "You too."

The man bowed and shut the door. Wes turned to Angel. "Well, that was quick. I suppose we should check inside the box before leaving."

Angel was still holding the box as if it contained something very precious. "I've got it," he said, going over to set the box down on the hood of the car, then opening it.

"All present and correct?" Wesley asked, his tone a little dry. It both amused and hurt him that Angel was behaving like a broody chicken with an egg.

"Looks good." Angel closed the box up again before Wesley could look into it. "You want to drive, or should I?"

Wesley studied his sire, his annoyance starting to outweigh his desire to please. "Why give me the illusion of choice, Angel? You decide. You clearly believe it's better that way."

"It's not an illusion," Angel said, tucking the box under his arm. "Just because I don't *always* give you a choice, doesn't mean that when I do it's not legit. But hey, if you don't want to decide..."

Wes folded his arms and stared at Angel, saying nothing.

"Unlock the car." Angel's voice was hard.

Wes did what he was told immediately; his point was made, although at a cost. He was allowing his emotions to control his actions, which was obviously unwise, but he wasn't sure he cared much.

Angel put the box containing the orb into the back, then held his hand out for the keys. Wes handed them over without a word and went round to the passenger's side and got in. They had a long journey to Sunnydale ahead of them, to be interrupted inevitably by another motel stay, and Wesley wasn't prepared to spend it like this.

When his sire got in and shut the door, Wes turned to him. "Being as this possibly is the last twenty-four hours we'll spend together, do you think we could perhaps make at least a small effort to ensure that they are pleasant?"

"I'm not the one being unpleasant," Angel said, starting up the car and pulling away from the curb. "You're the one being all confrontational."

"Which would imply, would it not, that there was something I considered you needed to confront."

"I thought you just said you wanted this to be pleasant." Angel sounded irritated. "You can't have it both ways."

"No, that's a luxury that only you're permitted." Wes winced inside, expecting to be hit, yet he did nothing to try and calm his own anger.

"What the *fuck* do you want from me? You want me to just throw it all away, say that it's fine if you don't want the soul back?" Angel's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly.

Wesley turned in his seat to glare at his sire. "Throw *what* all away? Just what is it that you're giving up on by letting me stay... free?"

"You," Angel said. "And I'm not doing that, not again. It was a mistake the first time I did it. I'm not losing you again." There was the unspoken implication that the way things stood, Angel considered Wesley lost to him, and that was utterly infuriating.

"Angel, you blo--" Some sense of self-preservation made Wesley bite back the string of insults on the tip of his tongue concerning his sire's level of intelligence, and Wes continued in slightly calmer tones. "Can't you at least try to understand that your only guarantee of keeping me is by leaving me unsouled?"

"I'm not giving up on you that easy." Angel's voice was almost a growl. "Maybe you'll need some time, sure, but sooner or later you'll be back."

Wesley felt his self-control crumble like a cliff under pounding waves. "Good God, Angel! Does reality *ever* penetrate through your thick skull?"

Angel slammed on the brakes and pulled the car violently off to the side of the road. Almost before the car had stopped his hand shot out and grabbed Wes by the throat. "Seems to me like somebody needs another lesson in respect."

Tensing under the grip on his neck, but making no effort to resist, Wes managed to squeeze some bitter words out. "Yes, go on, why don't you? Beat me senseless on the public highway. And when you're done, when I'm lying unconscious, broken and bloody, the facts will still be the facts and nothing will have changed at all."

"And what are the *facts,* Wesley?" Angel spat the words out. "You know so much, why don't you tell me?"

Wesley resolutely met Angel's gaze. "As soon as I'm souled, I will leave you."

And that would be a disaster for both of them. After the events of two nights ago, Wesley was convinced that Angel would be less than sane without Wes to both care for and be cared for by. The older vampire needed him desperately, perhaps in a different way from how Wes loved and needed Angel, but equally as strongly.

The knowledge felt good, obviously, but it also meant Wesley's soul was bad for both of them.

Wes continued his point. "I won't feel like I have any choice in this, Angel. I will not be able to stay with you because I will feel it would be wrong to do so."

Angel's grip on his throat loosened slightly. "Why? Why would it be wrong?"

Wes turned his head from Angel; he couldn't tell his sire, even now. "We wouldn't be good for each other," he muttered.

"Why?"

"There's too much... guilt and anger between us. We'd tear each other apart."

"You don't think you'd be able to forgive me for not letting you die," Angel said flatly.

"In time, I probably could," Wesley admitted. "There are other... crimes between us, however, that can't be forgiven." While Wesley knew which 'crime' he was mainly referring to, he wasn't quite sure whether it was Angel or himself who could never forgive him for what he'd done.

Angel let go of Wesley and looked steadily out through the windshield. "Tell me," he said, and it was clear from his tone of voice that he expected to hear a list of other things for which he didn't expect to be forgiven.

Sighing heavily and rubbing at his neck, Wesley turned to his sire. "Angel, the crimes are not yours. Oh, I dare say I'd be angry at you for a number of things once the deed was done, but that would pass in time."

"You know I let the Connor thing go a while back."

Wesley closed his eyes and swallowed. It was now or never. Telling Angel this could result... well, at worst it could result in Wesley's dusting. But Angel was never going to understand the full ramifications of resouling Wes without this information. "I didn't actually know that," he said slowly, "But, um," he swallowed again. "This is a different, er, 'Connor thing'"

"A different...?" Angel blinked, obviously having no idea what Wes was talking about.

It was really rather difficult to make himself speak; an awful lot of him just wanted to get out of the car and run. It took almost all the willpower Wesley had to remain in the car and say the words, "I killed Connor," to the boy's father.

There was a long silence, then Angel said uncertainly, "No, Gunn did."

It would be so easy just to leave it at, but since when had Wes ever taken the easy way out? "No, I did. I... I remember doing it. With my crossbow. His eye..."

"Don't," Angel said quickly. "Just... I don't want to know." Another moment of silence, then he asked, "You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you say something before?"

Wesley met his sire's gaze for the first time since they'd started talking about Connor. His voice, when he spoke, was heavy with emotion, and not even he was sure which emotions it was that he was feeling. "I rather wanted to avoid being dusted."

"But it..." Angel cleared his throat. "It wasn't your fault, right? It was that stuff. That Natural Killer stuff."

"I really didn't think that would stop you."

"Yeah, well... you were wrong."

Wesley had held onto the... well, it wasn't guilt, but the fear of consequence at least, since first waking up as a vampire. He didn't really know what to do with the feelings now. He stared blindly out of the window, saying nothing.

Eventually, he felt Angel's thumb brush over his cheek. "I'm sorry," Angel said. "That this had to happen."

Unable to stop himself responding physically, Wesley moved into the touch. The thumb traced its way down over Wes' lower lip. "I don't want you to go," Angel whispered.

Wesley found himself softly kissing the thumb tip. He moaned very quietly and moved toward Angel, seeking more contact. "I don't want to go."

Angel gathered him close. "Then don't."

Feeling weak and feeling like he didn't really care if he was, Wes welcomed the hug, returning it with restrained... desperation. He nuzzled into Angel's neck. "I'm not going argue about the soul after this. I'm not going to fight the reinsertion. But there's one thing I have to ask -- beg, if I have to, if it would help to do so."

Angel tilted his head back, baring his throat to Wes in what genuinely seemed like an offering. "What is it?"

Closing his eyes in attempt to stop himself getting distracted by Angel's body, Wesley answered, "When it's done, when it's in me once more, don't let me go. Don't remove the chains. Keep me with you and keep me your fledgling -- submissive to your will. Don't, for God's sake, give me freedom to choose."

He could feel Angel tense up. "You want me to keep you against your will? Why the *fuck* do you think I'd agree to that?"

Wesley made a noise that sounded a little too much like a sob for his own comfort. "Because if you don't, I'll leave, and it will destroy both of us."

"It won't." Angel's voice was softer. "I won't let it. It'll all be okay, I promise."

Blind. His sire was so caught up in not listening to the evil voice inside of him, that he was blind and deaf to anything that threatened his worldview. Wesley pulled back a little. "Oh Lord, Angel, you *know* me. If you give me, *souled* me, the power to make my own decisions, I'll make them based on intellectual and moral grounds regardless of my personal desires... or even your desires."

"Then we'll deal with it." Angel's hand rubbed and squeezed at Wes' shoulder, comforting. "Like I said before, if you need time, after... I can give you that."

Wesley surrendered; it was an almost physical sensation. He slumped in Angel's arms, resigned and depressed. There was just no way of getting through to Angel.

He had promised his sire he would never leave him, but he wouldn't be able to keep the promise now. He'd also promised Angel no more breakdowns, and though even when he'd made the claim so confidently he'd realised it could well be a lie, he'd rather have liked it to be true. Wes didn't like Angel to be in pain, especially as result of Wesley's actions.

And souled, he knew he would bring only pain to the both of them.

"That's right," Angel said, gathering him closer still. "It's gonna be fine. Trust me."

It wasn't, and Wesley knew it wasn't, but he had no fight left in him to argue.


	13. Chapter 13

_Just take this longing from my tongue, all the useless things my hands have done..._

 

One thing Angel hadn't been ready for was how *crowded* Buffy's house was going to be. There were teenage girls everywhere. Even when most of them went upstairs, or down to the basement, or outside, there were still always one or two wandering around. The kitchen was almost constantly full of people.

His initial conversation with Buffy had been awkward, to say the least. There was a tendency to stare at each other, and Angel would have been lying if he'd said that he hadn't wanted to kiss her. He'd probably always want to kiss her. It was just that whatever it was between them -- destiny, fate, whatever -- was bigger than both of them. It made things harder to control.

And there'd been Wesley beside him, somehow communicating exactly how much he hated being here without ever saying a word or letting his face show any expression other than 'fixed'. Everyone had stared at Wes like he was a zoo exhibit or something. It had made Angel feel protective and possessive of his fledgling, and that, here, was just too damn confusing.

Angel dragged his attention back to the dining room. "Thanks," he said awkwardly to Willow as she bustled by him again. The box with the orb was sitting on the dining table, and she was collecting the other materials she'd need for the spell.

"No problem," Willow said, glancing from him to Wes, who was standing over against the wall and looking pretty uncomfortable. "Don't worry; it's going to be fine."

It wasn't the first time she'd reassured him. "Yeah, I know." Angel's eyes went over to Wesley again.

Wes was still... not happy. His stance was stoic if not martyred, and beyond what he probably considered the polite essentials, he wasn't talking at all. His gaze met Angel's now, unyielding but unchallenging, just... doomed. Wes still believed that his resouling would end everything good between them.

"I'm gonna send everybody out when we do it," Willow said, drawing Angel's attention back to her. "I don't want anyone interrupting because they can't find the diet coke or tampons or... okay, I'm thinking that was probably too much information."

"Um, yeah." Angel could feel the back of his neck starting to ache from the tension, and he rubbed at it surreptitiously. "You're sure there isn't anything I can do. To help, I mean?"

"Nope, I've got it." Willow took one last survey of the table, hands on her hips, then nodded. "Yup, that's everything. Give me like ten minutes to clear the house out, and we're good to go." She disappeared into the kitchen.

Wesley's eyes were closed when Angel looked at him again, his head tipped back against the wall. Angel was about to say something, he wasn't sure what, when a familiar voice from the doorway immediately got his hackles up.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? Angelus got himself a new boy, has he?"

Spike.

Fuck.

"It's Angel," he said flatly, standing up straighter instinctively. Then he said the one thing he was pretty sure was going to cut deep. "So how's the soul?" He realized, too late, that this wasn't really the conversation to be having in front of Wes.

Spike straightened up from where he'd been leaning on the doorframe and prowled in a few steps, smirking. He was still wearing that fucking stupid coat. "Soul's fine and dandy, *Angel*. I fought for it; I won it. Comes without a happiness clause, y'know."

"Too bad having it hasn't made you any less of an asshole," Angel said. From the corner of his eye, he could see Wesley watching Spike with cold interest.

"What? You were expecting bad hair and a nice new line in brooding?" Spike asked with an amused quirk of his lips. He seemed about to say more, but Wesley interrupted.

"I see little evidence of brooding, but you seem to have excelled with the bad hair."

Spike turned to look at him. "Oh. You got a tongue then. Was wondering. I'm Spike, and you, apparently, are a mistake the old poof's trying desperately to rectify. Like putting a band aid on a shotgun wound, if you ask me."

"Shut up," Angel told him, taking a few steps to put himself slightly in between the two of them like he could protect Wes that way. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Spike's gaze returned to Angel, a far too familiar sneer on his face. "Don't I? Why'd you make him then? Don't tell me it's true love, for fuck's sake, 'cause then I'd have to stake you to stop you getting too happy. Protect the world and all that. 'S what souled vamps do, apparently."

"I don't have to explain myself to you." Angel could feel his anger rising and couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. It'd be so fucking satisfying to beat the crap out of Spike, who obviously deserved it. "And is that what you're doing here? Saving the world?"

"I live here," Spike said, not looking as pleased with himself as Angel would have expected with a statement like that. "And yeah. We're fighting a war to save the world from the First Evil. You come to help then? Oh yeah, that's right. You just want to use up our resources to fix your mistake. Sorry, forgot."

Wesley moved to stand beside Angel. "If by 'resources' you mean Willow's time, I feel sure she can spare the twenty minutes or so that we are asking of her. We brought our own components. I'd thank you to take your deliberately provocative aggression elsewhere. I see now exactly why you have the reputation that you do."

"Actually," Angel said, glancing at Wes and trying not to feel pleased that Wes was defending their presence even though he didn't want to be there. "Spike's aggression probably comes from the fact that he's not getting any. Funny, I don't remember what that's like," he lied.

Spike stared a little fixedly, clearly disbelieving, but also pissed. He tipped his head a little to one side and asked in a snide tone, "Got a nice tight arse, has he, sire? Feels good having someone to bruise and break again, 'm sure. Buffy know about all this then?"

Angel stiffened at the mention of Buffy's name, his fist clenching. He was aware that there were girls moving through the living room and out the front door, but none of them came through the dining room, so he had to assume that Willow had warned them to steer clear. "This isn't about Buffy; it's about you. What is this, Spike? You jealous?" He felt Wesley move closer still, their sides pressing together, and Angel had to resist the impulse to put a possessive arm around him.

Spike seemed flustered for a few moments, but then sneered some more. "What the fuck've I got to be jealous of, Angelus? Not like I enjoyed anything you ever used me for. Interesting that you chose an Englishman though. Been missing me, have you?"

"No. Can't imagine why not though, when you're such a pleasure to be around." Telling himself that he wasn't going to hit Spike, not now, with all those Potentials on the other side of the wall, Angel turned to Wes, giving the fledgling his full attention and a gentle caress. "You okay?"

Wesley gave him a tight little smile and seemed to take the attention as permission to move closer still, his hand rising up to lie flat over Angel's heart.

"Aww, sweet," Spike mocked, an edge to his voice that Angel was now confident *was* jealousy, or something closely related to it. "And there was me thinking that making a hot little love slave was something that only evil soulless vamps would do."

"Enough," Angel growled, lunging at Spike with the half-hearted intention of shutting him up, but letting Wes pull him back with a tight grip on his arm.

"Don't," Wes said quietly. "It's not worth it. *He's* not worth it." Spike laughed, and Wesley glared at him. "Speaking as one of those evil soulless vampires, I feel I should warn you that I'd have no qualms whatsoever about dusting you."

"Oh yeah?" Spike chuckled. "You're a feisty one. Suppose you could an' all if your big bad daddy here held me down."

"I wouldn't require any help," Wes asserted with calm, cool confidence.

Angel grinned at Spike, the expression feeling both natural and unnatural on his face. "See, Wes knows how to use his brain, which is something you never really learned. Even with the soul, there's no comparison between the two of you -- Wes is actually who I want." He smirked. "You never were."

He could sense the tension emanating from Spike's body; he was taut and ready to snap. "Dru always had better taste than you... well, apart from the fact she actually liked your ugly great cock inside her... but then, she was mad. You never answered my question anyhow. Buffy know about your new sweetheart? 'Cause if not, think she should be told."

"And let me guess, if I don't tell her, you will, right?' Angel rolled his eyes, part of him grateful for Wes' hand still on his arm. He didn't even want to think about what Buffy's reaction might be to the news that he and Wes were together *that* way. He remembered what it had been like to find out about the soldier guy Buffy had dated after he'd left for LA. "Grow up, Spike."

From the corner of his eye, Angel watched Willow come into the room and spot the three of them so close together, their postures clearly confrontational even to a non-vamp. She wrinkled up her nose and left in a hurry.

"Hey, Wes?" Spike laughed. "Maybe you need to use that brain of yours to explain to lunkhead here what immortality's all about. You know -- sleep all day, party all night, never grow old, never die... "

"As I remember," Wes answered coldly, "The vampires in that film died quite thoroughly. But be that as it may, you seem to be doing a conspicuous lack of partying. The soul must make that difficult, I imagine."

Spike didn't deny Wesley's words, saying simply, "Well, your partying days are apparently numbering less than zero, mate. So dunno what you're crowing for."

Angel felt Wes stiffen beside him and quickly said, "Wes doesn't have a hundred years of killing to feel guilty for. It'll be different for him."

"Yeah? This new boy of yours was a Watcher from what I've heard. Buffy's in the process right now of sending Giles out with a few of the girls to stop him coming in here with a stake. He's feeling a bit murderous these days, is our Rupes, and he don't seem to like the idea of a Watcher-vamp. Can't say I blame him actually. How'd you think you'll feel, Wes, all souled up, knowing what you've become? Little bit like staying up to see to see the sun, I'd reckon."

Wes was statue-still and silent beside Angel.

"Wesley understands," Angel insisted. "He knows what I am. He knows what a souled vampire can be, if he chooses."

"Really?" Spike asked, tipping his head and studying Wes. "Don't look like he agrees with you, Angel."

Stung, Wesley said angrily, "I have long admired Angel."

"Sure. 'Course you've admired the big hulking brute of a hero, who wouldn't? Well, me... but that's not the point, Wes, old boy. Point is, you're a Watcher, trained to think of me and mine as abominations, and even souled, we're a danger to humanity *apparently*. And now you are one, a little big bad -- like Dustin Hoffman with fangs. How's your training gonna cope with that?"

"The same way he's dealt with it the whole time he's known me." Angel's fist was clenched again, and he was only holding back from hitting Spike because of Wesley's hand still on his arm. "Wes is about a thousand times smarter than you, Spike. He can cope. And I'll be there to help him when he needs it. Too bad you've never inspired that kind of loyalty in me, huh?"

Wes still said nothing; it made Angel worry.

Spike's hands were pushed inside his coat pockets, but Angel could tell his fists were bunched. "Shit, Angelus. Your head's so big 's wonder you can get enough gel to coat all your follicles. Sorry to disappoint an' all, but you were never much more than a pain in my arse. Literally. Unlike you, I'm not a big Irish poofter."

It wasn't the words that pushed Angel over the edge -- it was probably just a build-up of everything that had happened over the past few days. In any case, he lunged at Spike so unexpectedly that Wes, who wouldn't have been able to stop him anyway, pretty much let him go. Angel shoved Spike to the floor, the two of them going down in a heap, and Spike cracking his head on the baseboard. Angel started punching, each smash of his fist into Spike's face loosening the tightness in his own chest.

Spike roared into furious game face and rose up, grabbing Angel's face between his hands and biting hard into his cheek. Spike's fangs went all the way through the flesh to crack into Angel's own teeth.

Enraged, Angel was preparing to batter the blond irritant senseless, when he heard a female voice command, "Dirime!" and felt himself flying up and back into the wall. Pulling himself up, he saw Willow and a furious looking Buffy in the doorway.

Spike looked up and laughed. "Oops. Someone's in for it now."

Wiping at the blood that he could feel running down his face, Angel snarled in Spike's direction, shaking with fury and trying to control the impulse to hurl himself at the other vampire a second time.

"*Enough,*" Buffy said, drawing his attention in a way no one else could have. "Both of you. Spike, why don't you go outside and cool off?" She didn't look at Spike as she said the words, and Angel felt a little glimmer of sadistic pleasure at that.

"Why?" Spike asked angrily, pulling himself to his feet and dabbing under his nose with the back of his hand. "Your Watcher out there with a stake for me?" Nonetheless, he left the room, shrugging his coat back onto his shoulders.

Wes had moved towards Angel, but stopped halfway, as if confused about what he should be doing in this situation. "Would you like me to take a look at that?" he asked, indicating Angel's face wound.

"It's fine," Angel said shortly, most of his attention still on Buffy. He jerked his head in the direction Spike had gone. "He started it."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh." Her arms were crossed in front of her, her posture straight and perfect. "I don't care who started it. I've got twenty-something girls staying here and only two bathrooms, and the last thing I need is for you and Spike to knock down a couple of walls as you butt heads."

Wes retreated back to where he had come from, returning to silence. Willow busied herself around the room, lighting candles and incense, and said, "I'm about to start with the room cleansing so any more displays of vamp testosterone should be taken outside, please."

"Yeah, right," Angel said, realizing that he was getting all tied up in knots over nothing. Spike -- and Buffy's irritation -- weren't what was important here.

He went over to Wes and ran a hand up the fledgling's arm, stopping at the spot between shoulder and neck and giving a gentle squeeze. "You okay? He didn't, you know, upset you?"

Wes gave a tight little smile, but didn't answer. His arms were folded in such a way that they were almost wrapped around him. He glanced over in Buffy's direction, but his gaze didn't settle.

Oh. Feeling stupid for not realizing sooner, Angel looked over his shoulder at Buffy. "I need to talk to Wes for a minute. Could you do me a really big favor and go make sure Spike is okay?" Buffy did a double-take, and Angel clarified, "I wouldn't want Giles to stake him before I had a chance to hit him again."

"Right," Buffy said slowly, exchanging glances with Willow. "Angel, get this done quick, okay? We're fighting a war here, and if you're not here to join my army, I seriously don't have time for this." She turned and left the room.

Willow looked at the two vamps. "I guess you'll want me gone too? You've got five minutes, not a minute more. This is my firm face, so you know I mean it." She followed Buffy out and pulled the door to behind her.

Angel would have been fine with Willow staying, since she actually had something to do, but not like he was going to complain about having some alone time. He wrapped his arms around Wes and pulled him close. "Sorry about the Spike thing."

"It was... interesting." While Wes did return the embrace, he felt stiff in Angel's arms and his head was turned to the side, his eyes apparently focused on Willow's ritual items and the box containing the orb.

Which, Angel realised with a chill, could so easily have been damaged had his fight with Spike been allowed to go on longer. "He just pisses me off," he said, trying for a lighter tone of voice. "Always has."

"He doesn't seem to like you much either." Wesley's voice seemed kind of distant.

Angel shifted uncomfortably, then nuzzled Wes' throat, hoping to distract him. "There are reasons for that, I guess."

Wesley seemed to be putting up with the attention rather than enjoying it. "Yes, I can't imagine Angelus was a great deal of fun to have as a sire-in-situ."

Pulling back, Angel tried to get Wesley to meet his eyes. "Probably not."

Wes seemed to sense what Angel wanted, as he did his best, although with obvious reluctance, to drag his gaze up to meet Angel's. The unsteady eye contact didn't even make the two-second mark before Wes grimaced and buried his face against Angel's neck. At least the resistance was gone from the fledgling's body now, Wesley almost clinging to Angel.

"Hey... it's okay." Angel cradled Wes closer, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. "Everything's gonna be fine. You trust me, don't you?"

Wesley didn't answer, but snuggled closer, his arms tightening almost painfully. There was a noise outside the door however -- just someone passing -- and Wes drew back, pushing out of Angel's arms and moving back to the wall. "We should perhaps let Willow get on with this. Drawing it out isn't going to make it any easier."

"Okay. Yeah." Angel wouldn't -- couldn't -- let himself feel hurt that Wes hadn't said he trusted him. "You're right. Let's get Willow in here and get this done."

***

Bloody hell. Bloody fucking bleeding hell.

Spike stormed through the back door, stopping short on the veranda, as the garden was full of Potentials. Bugger it. There really was no place to be on his own anymore. You'd have thought after the school basement, Spike would've been glad about that, but just right now he really didn't want to be around vulnerable little girls. There was so much blind fury bubbling and steaming inside of him that the soul was terrified for the children doing callisthenics on the lawn.

He lit up and inhaled deeply, trying to find some kind of calm. But it wasn't happening. Bloody Angel.

Wasn't the conspiracy to kill him enough to have to deal with? No, apparently being locked in a room lined with crucifixes by a hurt little boy in a murderous ninja's costume wasn't hell enough for the likes of Spike. He had to have the return of the Great White Poof as well, complete with his all-new toffee-nosed toerag boy.

And of course, Buffy wouldn't hear a sodding word against the big lummox.

Jealous, heh. That was a joke. Did Angel really have so little clue about what an absolute fucking arsehole he'd been as Angelus?

Yeah, sure, they'd had some laughs together. Laughs that now made the soul scream inside Spike. Made him wanna beat his head pulpy against the wall to make it shut the fuck up. But yeah, there'd been moments when him and Angelus had been almost... mates. Except Angelus had never let Spike forget that, in his opinion, Spike was his property, to be used and abused at whim.

And since Spike had entertained the opposite opinion that had meant endless... well, beatings to start with. Then as Spike had grown stronger, fights. But the fisticuffs had ended up as beatings too. Didn't matter how strong Spike got, Angel was always gonna be stronger. That pissed him off; didn't mind admitting it.

But it didn't matter how often or how thoroughly Angelus had broken Spike's body, as he'd never ever won. Not really. Sure Spike would beg eventually -- plead to be let alone, or to be fucked, or just that he was sorry. But they'd both known it was just rote and ritual and empty words, and that Spike's spirit was undamaged and still his own. He was nobody's sodding property.

Sometimes he felt like he'd spent the whole of the Twentieth Century just proving that fact again and again. Rubbing his grandsire's face in the fact that Spike was so much more than just his 'boy'.

Which all made the whole situation with his soul, and Buffy, and everything else of the here and now -- like trying to save the world and all that stupid shit -- kind of embarrassing. Because Spike knew he wasn't following in the big fat footsteps of Bat-Angel, flappy-coated crusader and doomed romantic hero. But he had to admit the evidence was stacking up against him.

He pulled his coat around himself and watched the Potentials glumly. His face hurt. Angelus had always hit him in the face first, liking to have the bruises where he could see them, Spike guessed. It was all about possession with the bastard, always had been. The bruises had marked Spike out as his. Hell, Spike might as well have worn a sodding dog collar and tag marked 'Property of the Irish Poofter. If found, please return for a solid beating up.'

You'd think Angel would be happier, less prone to want to slam his fists into Spike's cheekbones, now that he'd got himself a new English boy. One so obedient and submissive that he'd even allow himself to be souled again, when his fear and unwillingness of this procedure stank from every pore of the gangly wanker's skin.

Apparently not.

Stubbing out the dog end of his fag, Spike turned back to go inside. Angel stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame like he was trying to seem more relaxed and casual than he actually was. Spike rolled his eyes in extreme exasperation. "Buffy know you're out here? Only I got the impression she wasn't into seeing any more ringside specials."

"So we won't let her see." Angel didn't move -- just kept standing there looking at him, making him twitchy.

Spike let his eyes slide to the lawn full of young girls, most of whom had stopped exercising to watch the two of them, seeming to sense the tension. Hell, Andrew had probably given them all a slideshow presentation about the whole bloody Aurelian line.

What Angel had just said finally filtered through. "Oh," Spike said, nodding thoughtfully. "So. Wanna go for a walk then?"

Angel looked at him, patient, like maybe he'd never shift himself from the doorway, then said, "Sure. Not too far though."

"Where's the late Watcher then?" Spike asked, pulling his fags from his pocket again as they walked through the side gate. He offered the pack to Angel.

"Willow's getting him ready." Angel sounded terse, but he took the slightly battered pack from Spike's hand and got out a cigarette. "You're lucky he and Buffy kept me from ripping your face off. You know that, right?" It was said mildly, without any heat.

"You never could take too much in the way of truth, could you?" After lighting up, he passed Angel his Zippo.

Angel lit his own cigarette, then handed the pack and lighter back to Spike. "It doesn't have anything to do with truth."

"Your compulsion to batter me? No, probably not." They started walking down the road together. "So what d'you blame it on?"

"Me wanting to hit you all the time?" Angel shrugged and took a long drag, like it'd been too long since the last time he'd smoked. "I dunno. Probably the fact that you piss me off."

"Oh, so it's nothing personal then." Spike grinned at his grandsire, for some incomprehensible reason feeling a lot calmer.

Angel smirked back at him. "Other than that the person in question is you? Nah."

"So you never hit Long Tall Larry in there then?" Spike gestured back down the road with his head.

"Didn't say that." Angel shrugged again, the curve of his shoulders low.

Spike studied him. "So you hit him, but you don't feel good about it? That the soul talking? Or is there some other reason he doesn't make a satisfactory punching bag?"

As if reacting to the scrutiny, Angel tucked his hands into his coat pockets. "I don't know. I mean, yeah, obviously that's me talking -- *me,* not the soul. But..."

"Bloody hell," Spike said, not believing what he'd suddenly realised. He stopped and stared at Angel. "You love the lanky git."

Angel slouched even more, like if he hunched his shoulders enough he could disappear into his coat altogether. "No, I don't."

"Oh, come off it! You can't lie to me; you never could. You sodding well love him. It's written all over you, just like his stink is in your pores." Spike laughed, trying very hard not to hear the bitter edge to the sound. "For fuck's sake, keep him unsouled 'cause really, mate, the return of your more outgoing alter-ego is the last thing we need here right now."

"If I leave him like this, I'm going to be following him around forever, stopping him from killing, cleaning up his messes. Trust me, I need that just about as much."

Spike found he couldn't leave well enough alone. "So 's that why you made him? 'Cause you love him? That's very old school of you, grandsire. Did you give him a choice?"

Before he could blink, Spike found himself flat on his back with Angel on top of him, the collar of his duster fisted into Angel's hands. "You think *I* had a choice? You think I would have done something like that if..." Angel sat back on his heels, shaking his head in what looked like disgust.

Spike stared up at Angel, who was straddling him, and repressed his renewed rage -- and any other emotion he wouldn't admit to be feeling -- choosing instead to allow a slow grin to form on his face, his tongue pushing into the corner of his lower lip. He flexed his hips, pushing up into Angel's arse. "Didn't think you liked it this way, you great pon--"

Angel clamped a hand around Spike's throat, effectively cutting him off. "You don't know what I like. You never did."

Instinctively, Spike's hands went to Angel's wrist, trying and failing to move it. But then he had a better idea and gathered his hands into a double fist, bringing them down hard towards the git's balls.

The blow was only partially deflected by Angel's muscular thighs, and the bigger vampire rolled off Spike, curling up around himself and groaning. "There, see?" Angel wheezed. "Anyone could have guessed I wouldn't like *that.*"

"Well, I hardly did it 'cause I thought you'd like it," Spike said, rolling his eyes as he stood up. He gazed down at Angel, and then, strangely, found himself offering his grandsire a hand up.

Angel glared at him, kind of half-heartedly, and then accepted the hand and let Spike pull him to his feet. Still slightly bent over, Angel asked, "So what *is* this? I mean, what are you trying to accomplish?"

Spike started walking again, slowly so the old pillock could keep up. "What d'you mean? Here in Sunnydale?"

"Yeah. I guess." Angel paused. "With the soul."

Spike *really* didn't want to talk about the 'whys' of the soul. He shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea."

"Uh huh."

He sighed and looked sideways at Angel. "I thought I'd be a better..." he snorted quietly, "man with it."

"And yet somehow you seem to think Wes will be a better man without one?"

"Nope. Just think you're a better man without the happy of fucking the souled."

Angel snorted. "So it's me you're worried about. I'm touched."

"Actually, it's Buffy," Spike admitted. "She doesn't need to go through that again. Though if you want another round of breaking Giles' fingers, I won't stop you." He paused and then sighed. "Ah, who am I kidding; I probably would an' all."

"Well, you don't have to worry about it. I'm not... going to go bad again." Angel rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

Spike shot him a look. "Why not?"

"Because it's not that simple?" Angel sighed. "Do you have any idea how many things in my life would have to fall into place for me to have a moment of perfect happiness?"

Having this -- almost civilised -- conversation was odd, but Spike thought he liked it. After all, there wasn't anyone around he had more in common with than Angel. Which didn't mean they wouldn't be fighting again within a few minutes, but that was cool too. Nice bit of violence that they both knew wouldn't ever be deadly for either of them. Where was the harm in it?

He glanced at Angel. "Your unlife got a lot more complicated since the Buffy days then?"

Angel shrugged and just kept walking. "Yeah."

"Got yourself a gang, yeah? Your pretty Wes, of course. The cheerleader and the Irish half-demon? Maybe some more since then? 'S weird how they get into yo--" Spike stopped walking again and stared at Angel who was looking as if... as if he wanted to hurt Spike badly again, only he wasn't. "What's wrong? What did I say?"

"Nothing. You didn't know." A pause, and then, "They're all dead."

Spike felt something screw up inside him -- his soul he supposed. Angel was... well, either Angel was radiating pain or Spike was all too good at imagining how he'd feel in the same circumstances. "All of them? How many? How? When? Fuck, sorry, 'spect you don't wanna talk about it. Bugger."

The two of them stood there, not really looking at each other. After a minute, Angel offered, "Couple of weeks ago. That's when Wes... when I..."

Hardly able to believe he was doing it, Spike stepped forward and put his hand on Angel's arm. "I'm sorry, mate. Really."

Angel flinched, but didn't pull away. He took a shuddering breath, like he was trying to calm himself down. "Thanks."

Spike took his hand away before it got too uncomfortable for both of them. "You want help getting the arseholes that did it? Or you already taken care of that?"

Angel cleared his throat, glancing up at Spike and then back down at the ground. "Yeah. It's been... taken care of."

"I see why you made him now," Spike admitted, sympathetic despite everything. "You should be getting back to him, I guess."

"Yeah." Angel gave a pained chuckle. "Might as well find out what happens next, huh?"

Spike nodded. "Yeah. I, er... I won't tell Buffy. But she's not stupid, Angel. She watches you two together too much, she'll see for herself. And while, in a way, that'd suit me just fine, she's got enough to handle without it."

"I know." They started walking back toward the house. "And you're right. About her having enough to handle, I mean."

"Things have kinda gone to shit here," Spike told him. "The First Evil... well, you know how that one goes. D'you hear that I got myself brainwashed and programmed and the like? Chips, souls and triggers -- where the fuck am I under all that crap? Well, only one of 'em left now, but still." He was filling in the empty space with his chatter, the thought of what Angel had lost was bothering him more than it had any right to.

Angel glanced at him, clearly startled. "The chip's gone?"

Spike frowned. "Got a soul now. You of all people should know how much better that is at keeping us in line. Chip only hurts for a few minutes at worst. Soul never bloody stops."

"Oh, trust me, I know. I was just surprised. I was kind of under the impression that you were stuck with it." Angel was starting to sound more like himself.

"Buffy made the soldiers take it out. Was killing me, you see. Had started misfiring." Spike couldn't stop himself adding, "She could've had 'em fix it, but she trusts me, see. Now."

"I hope she has reason to," Angel said quietly, but it wasn't an accusation. In fact, it sounded more like... an expectation.

"Dunno." Spike looked down. "Did some bad stuff -- real bad stuff -- under the First's programming. Didn't know I was doing it, but... Don't know why she trusts me really. I wouldn't." Especially after the thing that he would never ever admit to Angel that he had tried to do before getting the soul.

Angel reached out and punched Spike's upper arm, not really hard enough to hurt. More like he wanted to make sure he had Spike's attention. "That's not really the way to convince me it's safe to leave you here with her, you know."

"Maybe you shouldn't," Spike said very quietly, still looking down.

There was a moment's uncomfortable silence. "Christ," Angel said, the tension in his frame saying loud and clear that he'd like to hit something. Again. "This really isn't what I need right now, Spike."

Spike looked up in a hurry. "No need to get your scanties twisted, mate. I only meant you should maybe stay. You and the newly resouled, I mean. We could do with all the help we can get here; that's all."

"I don't... I can't make any promises. I don't know what Wes is gonna want to do." Angel was obviously conflicted.

Spike considered things briefly. "He's a Watcher. Regardless of the 'ex' or the blood-drinking, that's what he'll always be. 'Cause the First's brainwashing has nothing on the Council's. Nothing at all. So if he knows what's going on here and believes he can help, he'll stay. Trust me on that one."

Angel nodded as the house came into sight. "Maybe you're right."

Spike was quiet until they were walking up the driveway, when he said casually, "You were one of them, you know."

Confused, Angel frowned. "One of what?"

Spike looked at the front door, shrugged and headed round the back again. "One of the guises the First used to torment me."

"Huh." Angel didn't sound very surprised. "Guess that makes sense." He paused, then asked, "You want me to tell you I'm sorry?"

Spike hesitated on the back porch and gave Angel a disbelieving look, refusing to take the question as anything deeper than the most surface meaning. "That the First wore your face? Nah, mate. That won't be necessary." He opened the back door, and they went in.

***

Wesley stared glumly at the orb that now contained his soul. That... that patch of St Elmo's fire was apparently a soul, an immortal conscience. *His* immortal conscience. He wondered dimly if he could move quickly enough to smash the orb before someone could stop him. But Buffy was too close by, leaning against the dresser with her arms folded, watching him as if he were about to bolt, which he supposed he would be once the orb was smashed.

Slayers. They had been the bane of his existence in many ways. It was only right that she was here now to oversee the destruction of his one chance at happiness. Being conscience free, for all that it had come with so much pain and grief, had been such a... relief. For once he had been free of the constant attrition of the endless and ever growing tumour of guilt he'd nurtured inside him.

Allowing it back inside him would be like... like deliberately hamstringing his own legs. Oh Lord, he couldn't do this. Yet he was still here.

Still here, even though Angel wasn't. Buffy had told him matter-of-factly that his sire had gone out to play with Spike, and Wesley didn't like the sound of that whatever way he replayed it in his head. He needed Angel here -- needed his strength and his... need for him. He didn't trust Spike and didn't want the two of them together, for many reasons.

"It will all be over soon," Willow told him sympathetically from where she was readying the second part of the ritual. "And then we'll just have Angel to do, and you'll be all set."

The words, at least the meaning of them, didn't hit him immediately. When it did, he turned and stared hard at her. "What are you going to do to Angel?"

"Um, you know. Getting rid of his food allergy." Willow spoke distractedly, like she wasn't really paying attention to what she was saying.

Wes attempted to translate the scooby-ese in his head but got nowhere. "I've no idea what you're talking about, Willow, unless you're referring to removing his soul, and that would seem rather stupid, even to me."

"What?" Willow turned her head and looked at him. "No, not the soul. Why would we do that? Hello, we're just in the middle of trying to give you back yours."

"You said 'food allergy'," Wes pointed out. "The only thing he can't eat is living human blood."

"Actually, technically he can," Willow said, glancing at Buffy apologetically. "But I was talking about, you know. The happiness clause. See, there was this whole analogy about changing part of a spell being like changing ingredients when you're cooking, and -- "

Wesley had forgotten, or rather he had allowed himself to forget, quite how difficult the Sunnydale children were to communicate with. However, he thought he'd finally gathered Willow's meaning and so interrupted. "You're stripping Angel's curse of the happiness clause?"

Willow blinked at him uncertainly. "Yes?"

"Okay," Buffy interrupted, before Wesley could respond. "Have we stepped into bizarro world or something here? Since when can you just remove part of a spell like that?"

Willow gave a little shrug. "Since always? I mean, once you know what you're doing."

Angel hadn't told Wesley about this. Angel hadn't told him about Spike's soul either. Wesley supposed the former meant he wouldn't have a happiness clause either with his resouling, not that it mattered. Happiness and his soul were not compatible. And what the latter meant, really, he had no idea.

He frowned at Buffy. "Shouldn't he be back in here by now?"

Buffy's arms were crossed in front of her, her stance radiating her annoyance. "Well yeah, other than the whole bizarro world thing. For all I know, he and Spike ran off to get married."

Wesley felt himself looking away with distaste. It was strange; he'd expected to feel jealous about Angel's connection to Buffy and hadn't really considered Spike as a catalyst for this particular sort of unease. No, that wasn't strictly true, but still things were not playing out quite the way he'd imagined.

In fact, the realisation abruptly hit him, they were worse than he'd thought. Much worse. And he'd been right to fear Buffy more than Spike as a threat to his link with Angel. Because with the happiness clause gone, there was nothing stopping Angel being with Buffy, his one true love. And turning back to study the Slayer, Wes could see clearly that the same realisation had just hit her.

Suddenly, there was no point in dreading the resouling. Angel, it seemed, was lost to him no matter what happened... and in fact, as Angel would only let Wes leave if he were souled, it would be best for that to happen and quickly.

"Let's get this over and done with," he told Willow, his voice gruff. He wrapped his arms around himself and added emphatically, "*Please.*"

From the doorway, Angel said, "Yeah. We ready to do this?" He glanced at Wes, then his eyes went almost immediately to Buffy, who gazed back at him steadily. Wesley felt something crushing inside of him, crumpling up like metal foil into a tight ball.

It was almost ironic to see Spike beyond Angel, the expression on his face so exactly like how Wesley felt.

Willow nodded slowly, watching the two fated lovers stare at each other. "Yup. All set." She waited another second or two, then cleared her throat, and Buffy wrenched her eyes away from Angel.

"Right," Buffy said. Wesley could see the faint blush on her cheeks clearly, the rosy glow of blood just beneath the skin taunting him in more ways than one. "Okay. I'm just gonna go do..." She pointed out the doorway, realised that she was pointing at Angel, flushed more, and jerked her thumb at the other exit. "Um. Check on the girls. Spike? You coming?"

Spike's expression was back to the punk sneer. "Nah. Reckon I'm staying here to see how the fun and games work out." He slid into the room and grabbed a dining chair, spinning it around before sitting astride it, folding his arms on the back.

Buffy shrugged, and with another, almost unwilling, gaze at Angel, she left the room.

"Okay. So," Willow said brightly. "Um, Wesley, do you want to, you know, sit down somewhere? I mean, not speaking from personal experience as the soul-ee, but my guess is this isn't going to be much fun."

Wes quickly perused the room. "I'm fine where I am."

Willow raised a hand in a 'whatever you like' sort of gesture, then turned to pick up the book she'd been reading over earlier.

Moving over closer to Wesley, Angel asked, "So is there... something I can do? To help?"

"Not really," Willow said. She must have realised how this sounded, as she immediately added, "I mean... just be ready. In case he, you know..."

Because he'd already pretty much wedged himself in the corner, it wasn't actually possible for Wesley to back away from Angel, but he found himself doing his best, without ever consciously intending it. The idea of being touched by his sire currently was... intolerable. "I don't need any help," he insisted, not meeting anyone's eyes. His own cowardice was revolting, but it was as much as he could do to just stop himself running, or worse still, throwing himself at Angel's feet and begging for... something.

He didn't even know what he wanted anymore.

"Just do it," he grated out.

Angel seemed to note his discomfort and took a half step away, but it was clear from his sire's hovering stance that Angel was prepared to do whatever might be needed.

"Okay, okay." Willow's eyes flickered over the page one more time, then she set the book back down. She picked up the orb, cradling it between her hands, and started to chant.

Once her attention was on the spell, Angel moved closer again. Despite himself, Wesley looked up. Angel's expression was difficult to read, but Wes thought it might be a combination of concern and regret. "Just... it won't be long now," Angel said quietly.

Wesley closed his eyes.

So much of him just wanted to reach out and touch Angel, hold him and be held. To take comfort like a child would from strong arms wrapped around him, a caring voice muttering soothing platitudes. But really, that would just be prolonging the pain. He tightened his arms around himself and tried to concentrate only on the objective of getting this done and getting out of here.

"Leave the poor bloke alone, Angel," Wesley heard Spike say. "Can't you see he doesn't want you near him?"

"Shut up, Spike." Angel's voice was low and grating, but the anger that had been in it earlier during the confrontation with Spike seemed to be gone. Still, Angel stayed where he was. Didn't come closer.

Willow's chanting was steady. She sounded confident, and it set Wesley's teeth on edge. Only it wasn't her voice, he realised, that was causing the irritation. It was happening.

A feeling of pressure began to grow inside Wes -- not quite a physical sensation, more a welling up of unspecified emotion. It quickly became uncomfortable and then painful, and despite his stoic intentions, Wesley was scared.

This was going to destroy him and destroy Angel too.

Suddenly, Buffy and happiness clauses and everything else ceased to matter. All that was important was Angel. Wes opened his eyes and stared at his sire, beseeching him, his arms half-reaching out. "Oh God, Angel..."

Almost immediately, Angel moved the few steps needed to reach Wesley, to take hold of him. "It's okay, Wes. I'm right here. It's gonna be okay."

"No. God, no, it isn't." Wesley clung to Angel then as the terrifying feelings overwhelmed him, his knees buckling so he was held more or less upright only by his sire's strong arms. There was heaviness growing fast inside him, as if gravity were somehow increasing. Like stepping out of the swimming pool, everything of him seemed three or four times its normal weight.

The sensation expanded, rapidly filling him, pushing down on him, rising up inside him until he felt it burst out of his eyes and mouth as blinding light. Blinding pain consumed his consciousness. He tried to call out to Angel as the light carried him away, but he never heard his own voice.

It was rather strange, Wesley thought as he started to come round, that unconsciousness should be accompanied by such a brilliant whiteness instead of the more traditional darkness. He could feel Angel's arms cradling him and hear Angel's voice saying repeatedly, "Wes? Come on, Wes, wake up."

He struggled to sit up, which he eventually managed because Angel helped and not because Angel had released him. Opening his eyes, Wesley saw he was surrounded by anxious looking faces. This was... humiliating. "Help me up," he instructed Angel.

Angel paused, then did as told, assisting as Wesley got to his feet, but still not letting go of him completely. Wesley could feel the tension almost radiating from his sire. "You okay?" Angel's thumb moved across Wes' upper arm.

Wesley tested his stance. "Yes. You can let me go now." He backed up a step from Angel, whose arms fell uselessly to his sides. For several moments, Wesley stared into his sire's eyes. There were so many questions that it was far too late to ask, the least of which -- why? -- was most close to being spoken. He may have even mouthed the word.

But then he turned, nodded a brusque thanks to Willow, and left the room, heading for the front door, because the answers didn't matter, only the facts that had provoked the questions.

"Wes? Wesley... *wait.*" Angel sounded more frantic than Wesley would have expected, but also as though he was trying to put some level of command into his voice. Angel's hand grabbed onto his arm, pulling at him to stop, urging him to turn around. "Please. Wes?"

Wesley could hear the coldness in his own voice when he asked, "Have you changed your mind?"

Angel blinked, and his grip on Wes' arm loosened noticeably. "Changed my mind about what?"

"You said you would no longer try to control me, now that I'm... whole."

Behind Angel, Wesley could see Spike slouching in the dining room doorway, watching the conversation, a slight frown on his face. Having an audience was far from desirable. Wesley pulled his arm from Angel's grip.

"Sorry," Angel said, glancing from Wes to the floor and back again, obviously very agitated at a turn of events that Wesley had been predicting all along. "I'm not... I mean, I won't. Try to control you. But I don't want you to go."

Defiant, vindictive words danced on the tip of Wesley's tongue, but he swallowed them, looked down, and said quietly. "I really am sorry." He could hear Angel draw in breath to ask what for and so raised his eyes to explain. "I'm sorry, but I can't stay." He clasped a hand to Angel's arm and added intensely. "Angel, stay here. You're needed here. You're lov--" He couldn't bring himself to say it. "It will be good for you here."

Wesley turned, walked out the front door, and didn't look back.


	14. Chapter 14

_Let me see your beauty broken down, like you would do for one you love..._

 

"Well, go after him then." Spike stared at Angel's motionless back, which was blocking the corridor. The sound of the door clicking quietly shut from Wesley's departure was still somehow reverberating in the air.

"He doesn't want me to." Angel's shoulders were slumped.

"Of course he bloody does, you stupid ponce. You just need to make him see that." Spike moved forward, touched Angel on the back. "Go after him, before it's too late."

He heard Willow moving out into the hall behind him, but she didn't say anything.

"You don't get it," Angel said, defeated, turning to face Spike. "I promised him that if he wanted to go, I'd let him. I'm not going to... I mean, I can't... that was the whole point. It's his choice now."

"That's not the kind of promise you keep, Angel; not if you care for someone. You go after them, and you stick by 'em through thick and thin. Give him space, sure. But don't just let him go. Fuck, for all you know he may be heading out to top himself."

Angel shook his head. "He wouldn't do that." Still, there was something in Angel's eyes, a small flicker of doubt maybe.

Spike couldn't believe Angel was still standing there. Only, of course, he could. Sodding typical of the prat. "This is Buffy all over again, innit? Just turn your back and walk away, and sod those who love you more'n life."

"He can't." Angel's voice was perfectly flat.

"He can't what?"

Angel blinked and looked at Spike. "You know. Love me. Not now, not knowing what I did to him, what I made him into."

"Bollocks." He wasn't quite sure why, but Spike was feeling increasingly angry. He got right into Angel's space and glared at him. "'Course he bloody loves you. What the hell other reason would a vamp have for accepting a soul other than love? Take my word for it, eh?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Angel said stubbornly, backing up and turning away from Spike.

"Oh yeah?" Spike followed, moving in front of Angel again. "And who'd know better than me then? You? Don't make me laugh. You're about as perceptive as the average hunk of granite. Not like Angelus; he always knew what was what. Why's that, you think? Personally, I've always thought there's only room inside you for brain or soul; can't have both."

Angel backed away again. "I'm not going to hit you," he said, "if that's what you're trying to get me to do. Me and Wes, we talked all of this into the ground. It's done. It's his decision now, not mine."

"Oh for fu--" Spike scrubbed his hands over his face in exasperation. "You know what? I was wrong. You don't love the poor bastard at all. You made a mistake, you've done your best to put it right, and that's that. Bathroom's that way; you can go wash your hands. No love lost."

"Um..." Spike wasn't sure afterwards whether it was Willow's hesitant voice, or his own sudden awareness of a certain scent that hit him first. Either way, both vampires turned and looked not at Willow, but at where her alarmed gaze was directed.

Buffy.

Angel, at least, stopped fidgeting and straightened up. "Buffy. I..." He ran out of words, but Buffy seemed to have found her own voice.

"Okay, did I walk through some kind of portal into an alternate dimension or something? Because I keep having to listen to all these conversations I *so* don't want to know about." Buffy didn't look angry so much as irritated, but there was confusion emblazoned on her face.

She was staring at Angel. Not Spike.

"Bugger this." Suddenly having had enough of the whole thing, Spike raised his hand up in a dismissive gesture. "I'm not letting that poor beggar wander about on his own out there to be tormented by the First." Resisting the urge to thump Angel in the balls again, Spike pushed past the git and out of the front door. Unlike Wesley, he did not shut it gently.

He stormed down the road, picking directions at random, having no real idea where Wesley had gone. It was a dark night -- cloud cover and no moon. But he kept getting little hints of Parfum de Poof, which he guessed had to mean the vamped Watcher, as Angel, as far as Spike knew, hadn't had a chance to get this deep into Sunnydale yet.

He wasn't letting himself think about anything much. Especially not Buffy. Thinking about Buffy would... drive him back, gibbering, into that bloody school basement. Angel was almost as bad, especially after the things the First had used his grandsire to say to Spike, while the Bringers had got heavy with the torture.

Too much like old times, that.

So if Spike thought about anything, it was about Wesley, who may have been a stuck up Council prat, but he was family now. Not only that, Wes loved someone enough to get a soul, and that made them brothers in a way not connected to blood. One way or another, Spike was going to get Wes back with Angel... and Angel away from the Slayer.

In the end, Spike nearly jogged past Wesley without seeing him, only realising at the last moment that the huddled figure in the children's playground, sitting in the dirt by the roundabout, was actually his prey. He made his way over slowly. He didn't have any reason to think the poor sod might bolt, but no point in making things harder on either of them than they had to be.

He kept his voice soft. "Hey. Wondered where you'd gone off to."

"Bugger off." The bloke didn't even look up from his huddle.

Spike moved another couple of steps closer, then leant against the metal frame of the swing set, thinking that parking himself somewhere would make him seem less threatening. "I remember what it's like, y'know."

That got a raised head. "That's an idiotic thing to say."

"You think?" Spike said it mildly enough, just wanting to get Wesley talking.

It worked, although the ragged tone of voice and hopeless expression were almost enough to make Spike wish it hadn't. "All my friends are dead," Wesley said. "All of them. Some of them, I killed, or helped kill. I have been made a... a thing I was brought up to consider an abomination, and Ang--" He swallowed and stopped talking.

Spike wanted to get closer still -- the need to comfort Wesley was stronger than he'd have guessed it would be. He strolled around in a half-circle that ended up with him over on the other side of the roundabout, and sat down. "My sorry excuse for a grandsire," he said carefully, "loves you. Even if he doesn't know how to say it. He's all torn up back there, thinking you want nothing more to do with him."

"No." Wesley shook his head once. "He needs me. *Needed* me. He loves Buffy. I'm... I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Spike snorted. "You've got nothing to be sorry for, mate. Way I see things, none of this is your doing."

Wesley was still staring at him though, like Spike was the one deserving pity. "They're removing his happiness clause, I'm afraid."

That little revelation floored Spike for a few seconds at least, but he managed to recover pretty quickly. "You think he's gonna want Buffy back, is that it?" Not that that wasn't the first thing that had sprung into his own mind.

"Of course he is. And she... she wants him back. God..." Wesley stared out straight ahead, into the dark.

The two of them -- Buffy and Angel -- *had* been looking at each other all starry-eyed off and on, but Spike couldn't let himself believe that they'd think they could just go back like nothing had happened. "Don't know for sure that she wants him back," he said gruffly. He used the toe of one boot to push against the ground, giving the roundabout a gentle shove that carried him around toward Wesley.

Wes glanced up at him. "I'm sorry," he said again, his voice very soft. He dragged his hands over his face. "I think I rather badly need to get drunk."

"I think you need to stop apologising for stuff that's not your fault," Spike said, reaching out and patting Wesley's shoulder lightly. "But yeah, couple of stiff drinks might not be a bad idea either."

Wesley pulled himself to his feet, using the roundabout as leverage. "I'll buy, if you..." He looked uncomfortable. "I'm not sure I trust myself drunk in a public place. Would you be prepared to...?"

"Stop you from jumping some poor innocent and drainin' him dry?" Spike asked. "Yeah, sure. Don't worry about it." He gave a little one-shouldered shrug. "'S gonna be okay, you know. Angel might not be the brightest bulb on the tree, but he knows quality when he sees it. If anyone can make this transition without going completely bonkers, it's probably you."

Wesley looked uneasily at him, but then gave Spike a grimacing half-smile and turned to walk to the road. As Spike followed, Wes said almost conversationally, "You know, I care about a great many things quite deeply now that my soul is back -- things I've done and things I should have done. But the one thing I seem unable to summon up even a twinge of guilt for is the fact that I drained a woman dry three nights ago."

Spike considered this as he stretched his legs to keep even with Wesley, who was considerably taller than he was. "Deserved it, did she?"

When Wesley turned to look at him now, his eyes seemed impossibly dark. "She drugged us all so that we turned on each other. Only Angel survived, and myself, I suppose, if you can call this survival. Six souls gone forever, including people who had done great good." He glared out into the night. "She more than deserved her death." Spoken like a true Watcher, Spike thought. Not that he disagreed.

"Can't see why you should feel guilty then," Spike told him. "Sounds to me like you did the world a favour."

"She tasted quite wonderful," he said challengingly.

"Bet she did, mate." Spike chuckled, finding nothing to dispute or judge.

Wes held his gaze again for a second or so, then nodded, apparently ending the discussion. "I never did really learn my way around Sunnydale," he confessed. "So lead on. And Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not sure why you came after me, but... thanks."

 

The Bronze was actually quiet for once -- the bloke spinning the CDs must have been under orders to keep things mellow. Spike made his way back from the bar to the small table Wesley had claimed and set their drinks down. "Sounds like they're trying to keep the kiddies calm," he said.

"The poster outside said it was a 'chill out' evening." Wesley replied dully, staring at his glass of cheap whisky.

Spike sat down, his posture as casual as he could make it, and glanced around the room. "Seems to be working." Wesley didn't reply. Suppressing a sigh, Spike slouched further in his chair and studied him thoughtfully. "So, this the new you then? You're just gonna mope around, brooding and..." He chuckled. "You and Angel, you're made for each other."

Wesley glanced dourly at him. "In a way, I have been made for Angel. To his requirements."

"You blame him for what happened?"

Wesley frowned as if considering a tricky problem, and he took a while to answer. "I blame him for siring me; who else could possibly hold that responsibility?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "So you think it'd be better if he'd just let you go, is that it? Just watched you die along with everyone else."

Wesley's gaze dropped. He took a drink. "I think siring me was necessary to his short term survival."

"Hey. Way to flatter a guy." Spike swallowed half of his own drink and set the glass down on the table with a click. "Guess that's why you're in love with him, huh? Because he's so selfish?"

"Oh," Wes replied, almost casually, "I don't think for one moment that it was a conscious decision." Spike noticed there was no denial of the 'in love'; he hadn't expected it really. Wes seemed a pragmatic bloke. Sod all point in denying the obvious.

"What -- him turning you? Kinda hard to do something like that by mistake." Spike kept waiting to see something else on Wesley's face -- something that would show what kind of man he'd been before; something that would explain his current behaviour.

He was out of luck. Wesley's expression remained more or less stoic. "You are misunderstanding me, Spike. While Angel obviously made a hurried decision to feed me his blood as I was dying, I do not think he was consciously considering his own survival at the time. However, that is none the less why he did it." That slight frown crossed his features again. "And if he still needed me in order to survive, I would undoubtedly stay. But that danger has passed now."

"Christ, you're a wanker," Spike said before he could think. "You think he doesn't need you? If you'd stuck around long enough to see the look on his face, you'd have thought otherwise."

The frown deepened, although the tone remained calm, almost uncaring. "Angel processes emotions slowly. You must know that, surely. He has been feeling deeply responsible for me for days, and it will indeed be hard for him to let go. Nonetheless, he has Buffy now. He no longer needs me even if he himself hasn't yet realised that fact."

Spike growled in frustration and finished off the rest of his drink. "You seriously think that perfect happiness crap's the only thing standing between Angel and Buffy and a house with a white picket fence?"

"Spike, I know you feel you know Angel well, but, meaning no insult, I would suggest that it's Angelus and not Angel that you understand. I have worked very closely with Angel for three years. I believe in his mission and have pretty much dedicated myself to providing whatever support he requires. I've made it my business to understand him." It didn't escape Spike's notice that Wesley hadn't answered his question.

"Then you know his thing with Buffy's history." He said it as blandly as he could.

"Thing?" Wesley's tone was becoming peevish, which was a definite improvement on flat.

"Yeah, you know -- thing. Relationship."

"They are fated lovers." Wes said it as if stating last year's premier league results. "Spike, if this is a painful subject for you, there is absolutely no reason we need to discuss it."

"That your way of saying *you* don't want to discuss it?" Spike glanced in the direction of the bar, thinking he should have started them out with a few more drinks than he had.

Wesley stood. "I'll get us another round. Several rounds in fact." He headed for the bar.

Least the bloke being gone gave Spike a couple of minutes to think, not that he particularly wanted to. Interesting, trying to convince Wesley that the whole Angel-Buffy thing was ancient history, what with Spike not at all convinced of it himself.

He hadn't lied to Wesley though -- he did think that Angel realised that things with Buffy had been doomed from the start. Whether or not Buffy realised it... well, that was a different story. Chances were she was still harbouring schoolgirlish hopes that, clause wiped clean from the slate, she and Angel could go back to their destined lovers act.

Not that she'd let herself think about anything of the sort at this moment. Currently, she was all Slayer, all general of the bleeding army, and girlish hopes and dreams were right off the a la carte. Far as nooky went, no one was gonna get any 'til this apocalypse was dealt with one way or another.

After that, if they were still all about, maybe Buffy would have to choose between souled vamps, but not if Spike had his way. Angel'd walked out on her when she'd needed him. Spike would see her through thick and thin. Angel'd got himself a pretty public school boy far more suited to be the pillock's lover than Buffy'd ever be.

See, the thing with heroes, they tended towards the selfish. Or self-centred, at least. They had to, if they wanted to do a good job. The mission had to come first, and in a very real sense, they *were* the mission. And heroes needed people like Spike -- like Wes -- to tend to them. Self-sacrificing, perceptive people, who would dedicate their lives to supporting the hero and not expect all that much in return. The, um, Wayland Smithers to their Mr Burns. Heh.

But two heroes together? -- an impossible dream. They'd eat each other alive... undead... what the fuck ever. Point was, it was in all four of their interests for Angel to be with Wes and Buffy to be with Spike.

That sorted, Spike felt better, and he grinned up at Wes as the bloke put a tray of drinks down on the table, clearly ready to settle in for a night's heavy drinking. The grin met with a stern frown, and Spike rolled his eyes. "Aw, c'mon mate. 'S not that bad. Being immortal and super-strong and stuff -- it's alright, y'know? 'Part from anything else, means you can give the ponce the kind of attention he *really* needs. 'Cause soul or no soul, vamps've got needs." He snorted quietly. "As I guess you now realise."

"He's got hands," Wes answered quietly. So quietly, Spike didn't even realise what'd been said for a few seconds, then he spluttered.

"We've all got *hands,*" he said, grabbing one of the new drinks and taking a large swallow. "Doesn't mean we want to spend the rest of eternity alone."

"He's not alone," Wesley pointed out.

"He bloody well is if you leave." Spike was starting to feel like he was beating his head against a brick wall, for he wasn't getting through to Wesley. "You're trying to punish him, is that it?"

Ah. That finally hit a nerve. Wesley slammed his drink back down on the table hard enough to cause whisky to splash out. He glared at Spike. "Even," he said in pinched tones, "if it were true that Angel still rather stupidly requires me to tend to his 'needs' -- which it isn't, as Slayers have rather similar needs according to my training -- what exactly would I be punishing him *for*, Spike?"

The list of possibilities was long. "For not being able to let you go in the first place?" Spike suggested, raising an eyebrow. "Or maybe for not being able to convince you that he does love you, you stupid tosser."

Wesley stared at him, his fixed expression now showing definite and multiple cracks. The trick to seeing all the stuff about Wes, Spike thought, the stuff Wes wanted no one to see, was to concentrate on the bloke's dark blue eyes. The face was a lie, a façade. You couldn't believe anything that face said. The eyes, however, were the proverbial windows, and Spike could see right on in.

Eventually, almost as if sensing that, Wes dropped his gaze, and he swallowed a double whisky in one gulp. "How could he possibly love me?" he said bitterly. "What I am... Angel hates himself, Spike. I see it in him every time a demon he is fighting reminds him somehow of himself, of what he is. And now that's what I am too."

"Uh-huh. And you're telling me you can't understand how someone could possibly forgive something in someone else that he can't forgive in himself." Spike watched Wesley, waiting for him to look up again. "You don't have any personal experience in being harder on yourself than on anyone else?"

That got a sharp look. "What has he told you about me?"

Spike could feel a growing awareness that they were being watched, the little hairs on the back of his neck prickling to attention, but he tried to stay casual about it. Wouldn't do to give too much away. "Didn't need to tell me -- it's written all over you. You're just like him."

Wes looked as if he'd like that to be true, but... "I'm really not."

"Yeah, you are. Trust me, I'd know." He slouched a little bit more in his chair, trying to project 'casual' to whoever it was watching. "You want to know what I think?"

Wesley actually gave him a small smile. "I'll humour you."

"I think if you leave now, you're gonna regret it."

And a small laugh to go with the small smile. "Regret doesn't even begin to cover it. Without Angel, I..." He sighed, shaking his head slightly, and his expression hardened. "I've been alone before. Most of my life in fact. It doesn't matter." Another drink was raised to his mouth.

Spike reached out, snatched the glass from Wesley's hand, and drank it himself. "So that's your brilliant plan? Both of you alone and miserable? 'S enough to make me think you're not so bright as you're painted after all."

"Buffy," was Wesley's only reply to that. Ignoring the glass taken from him, he lifted another.

***

Angel, from where he stood on the balcony straining even his vamp hearing to listen in, couldn't help from starting at the mention of Buffy. A shock ran through him like he'd stuck his finger into an electrical socket. Wes seriously thought that Angel could go back to Buffy, just like that?

He'd never deny -- well, maybe to Wes, and possibly to Buffy, depending on the circumstances -- that there was a part of him that still yearned after Buffy, that was drawn to her. It was like the two of them were somehow joined by an invisible bond that would stretch out through the years, but never completely disappear. But it wasn't like he could go back to her, pretend like nothing had happened. It wasn't that simple.

When he'd left Sunnydale, he'd said goodbye to Buffy, in his heart. Saying it the second time, through her soft begging and tears in LA just before time had turned back and erased the day that never was, had been all that much harder, and Angel had told himself then that he wouldn't need to say goodbye to her again. It was better for both of them that way.

Not that the idea of being hers again didn't appeal at a pretty deep level, but he had responsibilities. They both did.

How he felt about Wes, that was... actually, pretty simple. Sure, there were complications along the way, but despite everything, he wanted Wes. Angel just wasn't sure if there was a way to convince Wesley of that. Or a way to convince Wes to want him back.

After Willow had finished with Angel, it'd been easy enough to follow Spike's trail, what with the undertone of Wes' scent beneath it. He'd been surprised to end up at the Bronze -- somehow he figured Spike'd be more likely to frequent Willy's, even with the soul, but then, maybe it made sense that Wes would prefer someplace even slightly familiar.

The place, actually, where they'd first met.

Angel shifted his weight slightly against the post he was leaning on and watched as Wesley finished off another drink.

"You're half right," Spike was saying. "If Angel and Buffy got back together, they wouldn't be alone."

Angel watched Wesley rub his mouth thoughtfully, his expression dark. He didn't reply to Spike, whose motivations for being here Angel now thought he understood, after that mention of Buffy.

"Look, you know what? Just forget it." Spike crossed his arms in front of his chest, probably unaware doing that made him look like he was sulking. "You want to run out on Angel, you go right ahead."

Wesley turned to face Spike, and Angel could hardly make out his reply. It was something about Wes not being needed, not being something else too. He didn't catch what.

Spike shook his head. "You're a wanker, you know that?" His voice was a little bit louder, and it seemed deliberate enough that Angel wondered if Spike knew he was there.

Wes seemed to react to the volume of Spike's voice by reducing his own still further, and Angel couldn't make out a word of it. Frowning, he began to side-step slowly towards the stairs, while waiting for Spike's reply.

When it did come, it was a little less loud, making Angel even more sure that Spike was aware of him being there. "This doesn't have anything to do with how I feel," Spike said. "This is about you and Angel." A pause, then Spike leaned in closer to Wes. "You're in love with him."

There was another pause while both of the vamps Angel was watching sat motionless, staring at each other, and then Wesley dropped his head into his hands. Frozen in place, Angel waited. Watched, as Spike patted Wes awkwardly on the back. Confused about what was going on, Angel felt another of those finger-in-socket shocks as Wes raised his head and seemed to look straight at him, his face appearing agonised.

But the expression was soon mastered. Wesley turned a more or less calm face to Spike. "Yes, I am. But you are wrong about Angel. He has needed me, has even liked me in the past, but he does not love me."

Hearing Wes say it -- all of it -- like that... it sent something through Angel, something like hope. He found himself at the bottom of the stairs and walking toward their table before he'd even realized he'd started to move again. "That's not true," he said.

Wes twitched; he'd obviously had no idea Angel was nearby. He stared at up his sire. Spike, on the other hand, smirked insufferably.

"No, it's not true, is it. You gonna beat that fact into this stupid git? Can I watch?"

"Shut up, Spike," Angel said, and snorted as he heard his words simultaneously coming from Wesley's mouth. Wes, whose gaze had never left Angel, went on to say, "What isn't true?" It sounded like a plea for mercy.

Under the intense scrutiny, Angel swallowed, but he forced himself to keep looking at Wes. "Um, you know. What you said." Had to force the words out. "That I... don't love you."

"Yep!" Spike crowed immediately, slapping the table. "Knew it. What a pair of dickheads you both are. Now go off and get all snuggly somewhere so I don't have to worry about either of you."

Wes, taking no notice of Spike, stood. "Angel..."

Angel stayed where he was. Waited to see what Wes would do. "I promised," he said, trying to explain why he wasn't moving closer when God knew he wanted to. "That I wouldn't..."

Wesley didn't seem to understand. He stopped, and his hand which had started to rise towards Angel, fell back to his side.

"Oh for the love of..." Spike was suddenly up and pushing between them, getting straight into Angel's space. "Listen, you big lump of stupid! Tell him how you feel, make him believe it, then take him somewhere, forcibly if necessary, and sodding well show him!"

Barely able to spare Spike a glance, Angel stepped sideways so that his view of Wes was clear again. "Wes, please. Come outside so we can talk? Please."

Spike turned to Wes, but didn't say anything annoying this time; instead he grabbed Wes' wrist and yanked him forward, virtually throwing him into Angel's arms.

"Spike!" Wesley complained, straightening himself up with Angel's help, but he didn't move away. "We don't need any more 'help', thank you."

"You sure?" Spike asked. "'Cause if I head off now only to hear later you've run off again, that lunkhead here's let you run, 'm not gonna be happy."

Angel opened his mouth to say something about how he could care less about Spike's happiness, but Wes got in first, putting a hand on Spike's arm. "I'm sure. And I do appreciate everything you've done. But now we need to do the rest, whatever that is, by ourselves."

Spike looked between them both, then pursed his lips, nodding. "Right then. I'll be off."

Not sure whether he felt more or less secure with Wes standing right up against him, Angel nodded back at Spike, wanting to say something but not having any idea what. Finally, he just said, "Thanks. And... well. Thanks."

Spike nodded again, and drawing his duster close as he passed Angel, left the pair alone.

Wes was still staring at Angel, his expression unreadable. "We probably should talk."

Blinking, Angel backed off a little bit, holding his hands out at his sides to show that he wasn't gonna try to force anything. "That's all I want to do -- just talk."

Gesturing to the table where he had sat with Spike, Wes asked, "Here?"

"Sure," he agreed immediately. "Here's good. Here's... this is good."

They sat down. There were still a couple of untouched shots left on the tray, and Wes passed one to Angel. "This feels very awkward," he acknowledged.

Angel nodded, turning the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid inside glow as the light hit it. Incredibly self-conscious, he glanced up at Wes, who looked... calm. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing. "You okay? I mean... with everything?"

The small smile Wes gave him was almost fond. "No, Angel, I'm not okay. With anything very much."

He looked back down at his hands. "Yeah. I mean, no, I guess not."

"But what you just -- almost -- said," Wes continued, "has helped."

Angel discovered that he didn't want to drink the whiskey in his glass and set it down on the table so carefully that it didn't make any noise at all. "I meant it," he said. "That thing I -- almost -- said."

"I feel the same way," Wes told him. "I have done for a long time, I think. But I am somewhat confused at this moment, not only with the return of guilt and a sense of responsibility, but also with the awareness of what you did... to me."

"I know." Something hurt in Angel's chest, but it couldn't be his heart. Could it? "I'm... I know I should tell you I'm sorry. For turning you. And... I am. But..."

"No." Wesley's tone was gentle, but had a firmness to it. Angel was very aware of the fact that they were sitting so close and yet not touching. "Actually, and contrary to my own expectations, I don't seem to be particularly angry with you for siring me. I think it was... necessary."

"Then... what...?"

Impossibly, Wes' voice became softer still. "Angel, you beat me. You... raped me. You forced me into a subservient position and removed my ability to make my own decisions. I do understand that the rules of vampire life are quite different from those of human society, and also that allowing me to make my own decisions could potentially have been quite disastrous. But... I really think your methods leave a lot to be desired."

The tightness in Angel's chest increased. He hadn't wanted to think about it -- just to get it done, what he had to do, and move on. He wouldn't think about how part of him had liked it, revelled in it, wouldn't... he felt sick.

Angel shoved his chair back with one hand and stood up. "I'm sorry. God, I'm... sorry..." He had to get out.

After a moment's hesitation, Wesley stood. His expression, posture and tone took Angel straight back to the days when Wes had managed Angel Investigations. "Sit back down, Angel. We've done things your way since this whole episode started. You will now do me the great favour of letting me be in the driving seat for a while."

He stared at Wes, then did as ordered and sat back down. "Sorry," he murmured again. Wesley was right -- he owed him this much. Probably more.

Wesley also returned to his seat, then waited long enough to get Angel fidgeting before saying, "That can't ever happen again. Any of it."

"I know. It won't." Angel looked at Wes pleadingly, hoping that his sincerity was obvious.

"There can be no more sire and fledgling games. No more violence-enforced lessons in obedience."

"No, I know. You're right." Angel thought he might have agreed to anything in that moment. Another thought occurred to him. "This... it doesn't have to be about me being in charge. When you were the boss, back before..." He couldn't say Connor's name. "I was okay with that."

Wes looked to be seriously considering that, but he cautiously said, "I think I'd rather we were equals. Friends. If that's still possible."

"Is it? I mean, I want it to be. If..." Angel hesitated, looked down at his hands again. "I'll do whatever you need me to do, to make this right. Anything."

"We can only try and see what happens." Wes was still very calm, almost casual. It was as if he were discussing a case in the office. "It's funny. I was so convinced that I would be furious with you for turning me. I can only assume that working with you so closely had changed my Watcher-trained attitudes to the idea of vampirism more than I'd considered. Of course, I may change my mind the next time I fancy a day at the beach."

He smiled wryly at Angel, maybe acknowledging the fact that Angel'd never known Wes to care about the beach one way or the other.

"So..." Angel slid his hand down to rest on his thigh, where Wes wouldn't be able to see that it was clenched into a fist. "You're not... leaving?"

Wesley took a deep breath; one of those residual human gestures that vamps never seemed to lose. "I don't seem to want to. I am concerned however... about several things."

That didn't do much to reassure Angel. He wanted... well, he wasn't sure what he wanted, other than Wes. "What things?"

Wesley's gaze met his solemnly. "Buffy, the dynamic between you and I, what exactly we will do with ourselves now that..." Showing the first sign of strong emotion since Angel had joined him at the table, Wes stared fixedly down at his hands for a few moments. "Now the others are gone."

But Angel wasn't going to think about them. Couldn't. Even still, the list felt oppressive. "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth," Wes suggested, as if it were obvious.

"I... I'm not good at this," Angel said, which was *definitely* obvious. But hey, liquid courage, right? He picked up the shot glass in front of him, drank down the whiskey in one, then glanced at Wes, doing his best to meet his eyes. "I'm always going to love Buffy. Nothing's gonna change that. But..."

Wesley looked away again. "I know," he said flatly.

"But I'm not going to be with her again." Angel sighed. "It's complicated. Too complicated. For her. And that's not gonna change either. It's not... you don't have to worry that some day I'm gonna..." He reached his hand across the table and left it there, palm up, in front of Wes. "I love you. That's the third thing that's not gonna change."

Wes didn't look up and didn't say anything, but after sitting still for a few moments, he moved suddenly, and Angel found Wesley's hand on top of his, squeezing.

And there was that little surge of what might have been hope again. "Don't leave me," Angel said, so quietly that no one but Wes would have been able to hear him.

A small tremor ran through Wesley; Angel felt it as if it were running through his own body. "I won't," he promised, equally as quietly. "Not while you need me."

"I'll always need you."

Wes looked up at last. "Angel, can we..." He smiled weakly. "Get out of here?" He gripped Angel's hand more tightly for a few seconds then let go. Finishing his drink, he stood.

"Sure," Angel agreed, getting up too. "Um... when you say 'here,' you mean the Bronze, right?"

Wesley nodded. "We can't, in all good conscience, leave Sunnydale. They need all the help they can get."

"Maybe more than we can give them." They started walking toward the entrance together.

"But we'll give them what we have, won't we?" Wes glanced at him as they walked through the door into the slight chill of the evening air. "Or are you questioning your vocation as, um, 'champion'?"

Angel shrugged and stuck his hands into his pockets. "Oh, don't get me wrong -- I'm all about helping. The whole champion thing, that's... it's not about what you are. It's about what you do. You know?"

Wesley nodded, but Angel got the impression he didn't totally agree. They were outside now, and Wes stopped walking suddenly, studying Angel with an expression that kind of made him feel like he was a very interesting science experiment. Wesley placed his hand on Angel's shoulder, gently but firmly pushing Angel back into the wall of the Bronze.

Surprised, Angel let him, not putting up any resistance.

"Are you truly going to be able to accept this?" Wesley asked.

He blinked. "Um... what?"

Wesley's smile was predatory now, forcibly reminding Angel that his friend might be resouled, but would always now harbour a demon as well. "This," Wes said, slipping a firm hand behind Angel's neck and moving in to kiss him hard, his tongue thrusting into Angel's mouth.

Angel groaned, returning the kiss eagerly, but managing not to grab onto Wes' ass the way he wanted to, letting Wes control what happened. When Wesley finally drew back, looking pretty pleased with himself, Angel couldn't find any words and just nodded. Oh yeah. He could accept this.

"Well then," Wesley smiled, running his hand down Angel's chest and either ignoring or oblivious to the way the kids milling about the backstreet were staring at them both. "I think our greatest problem may well just be how to find time to be alone together whilst staying in a moderately sized house brimful of teenage girls."

Leaning forward to nuzzle Wes' throat, Angel murmured, "Nothing says we have to be alone *inside* the house." He slid an arm around Wesley's waist, tentatively, in case Wes objected, and pulled back enough to watch Wesley's expression.

Wesley's eyes glinted gold as he shoved Angel forcefully against the wall and kissed him harder than he could remember ever being kissed before.

And it felt just right.

***

It seemed odd, holding a memorial service under the stars, for all that Wesley realised a daytime service was out of the question.

But of course, it was fitting too. Hadn't they all been almost nocturnal, fitting their waking hours around Angel? Even Cordelia, a creature of the sun if ever there was one, had grown paler in recent years.

Wesley didn't move from Angel's side where they stood facing the line of plaques. His friend was silent, deep in the grief that they hadn't had time before now to truly let themselves feel. So much loss -- so many friends gone forever. Including Spike, to whom Wesley had grown surprisingly close during the last days of Sunnydale. Doomed by a tacky amulet that had arrived in a padded envelope, too mundane to be truly mysterious, Spike had died a hero. There was a plaque for him too, which would have made Spike laugh loudly, Wesley was sure.

The many plates of engraved metal against the bricks gave the impression of a fortified wall blocking their path. There was no way forward down this particular road anymore.

There was no longer a chance that Wesley's friendship with Gunn could be repaired. His small, irrational hope for Lilah's redemption had had to be put aside. There would be no chance now to apologise to Lorne, no opportunity to encourage that fledgling understanding between himself and Fred that had begun when she had come to him for help in achieving revenge. What was done could no longer be undone. There was just Angel left.

But for Wesley, that was enough.

He mourned his other friends deeply, but in a way, he had already given up on most of them before their deaths. Rightly or wrongly, their rejection of him after his abduction of Connor had led to a prolonged and bitter period of bereavement on his part. So, in that way, he'd shed his tears and said his goodbyes already.

Or perhaps he was just fooling himself. Perhaps his joy at being Angel's equal and partner in both love and potential business was simply disguising a grief that would find other ways to manifest itself. He'd better watch himself carefully, he supposed. But for now, trying to concentrate on his grief proved difficult; the emotions were almost too slippery to grasp. Either way, his friends were gone, and it made more sense to cater to the needs of those remaining.

Angel cleared his throat beside Wesley, rubbing his far hand across his face in what looked like an attempt at a casual gesture. The knuckles of his other hand brushed against Wesley's, a fleeting gesture that might have been offering comfort. Or, perhaps, seeking it.

Wes glanced about quickly; there was no one near. He wasn't sure it would have mattered to him if there had been. He placed his hand on Angel's back and rubbed. "Take as long as you like," he said very softly. "And remember, we can come back. As often as you need to."

Angel didn't say anything, but he nodded almost imperceptibly.

Wesley returned to silence, but he left his hand on Angel's back, hoping his lover understood that there was more comfort available when he needed it.

He was ready to leave, but not impatient to do so. He felt he could wait for Angel for as long as proved necessary. In fact, he felt a strange serenity standing there, and he pondered on that.

Being dead was bizarrely relaxing, he'd found. The return of his soul had returned much of his guilt and all of his sense of responsibility, and the hungry demon also remained inside him. Which didn't, he had to admit, sound like the recipe for a zen-like calm. And yet, he was so much more at ease than he'd ever been before in his life. Part of it, obviously, was his relationship with Angel, but there was something about immortality, even though he could be dusted at any time, that seemed to bring a... release of pressure?

It was almost as if, now that he no longer needed to breathe, he finally could.

The muscles of Angel's back were tense under Wesley's hand, and finally he turned away -- away from the plaques they'd both been looking at, and away from Wesley. But then he stopped, giving the impression that having begun to leave, he didn't know where to go.

"Home?" Wesley murmured, moving once again to Angel's side. "Or perhaps a walk? We could see what's about." His free hand automatically moved to his jacket pocket to check that he was indeed armed.

"I don't..." Shaking his head slightly, Angel turned toward Wes, looking at the ground instead of meeting his eyes.

Clearly Angel wasn't capable of decisions currently. Wesley took his arm and began to guide him out of the cemetery towards the car. Home, he decided, was best for Angel at the moment.

'Home' was no longer the Hyperion, of course, and certainly not Wesley's old apartment. They had found themselves a nice basement flat on the edges of Koreatown. The landlady, Mrs Kim, lived above and knew what they were. The rent was cheap for the size of the place, but on-site protection for Mrs Kim's herbal medicine and magic business was part of the deal.

There were plans for a new and separate office as well, but they hadn't quite got that far yet.

The days leading up to the Fall of the Hellmouth -- Wesley's mind had indeed begun to capitalise the phrase -- had been so hectic and crowded. There hadn't been room for personal grudges, and both outdated opinions of Wesley -- and indeed, shock at his relationship with Angel -- had soon disappeared under the rushed resolution of necessity. And while at the time there had been much to terrify and depress, in hindsight Wesley was glad to have been a part of it.

His was the pride of the veteran.

Now, setting up business with Angel, he felt like he'd earned the privilege of partnering a champion. In both senses of the word, actually.

"I'll drive," he said, as they reached the SUV. He opened the passenger door for Angel and stood, holding it wide.

The expression on Angel's face was difficult to read, but his tone of voice was easier. "I'm fine," he said, clearly referring to the fact that Wesley was coddling him, and just as clearly lying.

Wes smiled gently. "Perhaps you could be fine inside the car?"

"You've really gotten pushy, you know that?" Angel asked as he got in, but Wesley could tell that it was just an attempt at lightheartedness. "Oh no, wait. You were always pushy." He offered Wesley a forced smile.

Wesley reached out and pushed a -- perhaps non-existent -- strand of hair out of Angel's eyes. Angel had allowed his hair to grow somewhat, adopting a swept back style. Stroking his hand lightly down the broad face of his lover, Wesley offered a sympathetic smile, before drawing back and shutting the door.

After installing himself behind the wheel, Wes started the engine. They set off through evening LA towards Koreatown.

They were quiet for a minute or two, then Angel rubbed a hand over his face and said, "Well. That's done."

It wasn't; Wesley knew that, but now was certainly not the time to argue. He reached out and squeezed Angel's leg. "We can come back whenever you want to."

Immediately, he felt Angel's hand on his own, squeezing back and not letting go. When he glanced over at Angel, the other vampire was staring out the window. "Do you think...?" Angel started, then trailed off without finishing.

Guessing what Angel probably meant, Wesley offered, "Cordy, Fred, Gunn -- they were heroes in their own right, and Connor... well, he was still an innocent in many ways. They must be happy and in heaven, or at least, a heaven-like place. Lorne too; I'm sure he's somewhere good." He did not mention Lilah, whom he was glumly certain was elsewhere, but who, he fervently hoped, had had the sense to arrange a special deal for herself. He didn't mention Spike either.

"Did you love her?" It was uncanny the way they nearly seemed to read each other's thoughts sometimes.

"Lilah." He paused and considered his words. "I think I feared I might at one time. I was certainly... attached."

Angel's fingers tightened on his own. "I'm sorry."

"I love you," Wes answered quietly.

He felt Angel's hand twitch, but Angel didn't say anything; rarely did in response to that particular sentiment actually. Wesley swallowed down the moment's angst. One day, when he said that, Angel would believe him.

The journey didn't take too long, and soon they were driving into the small lot beside Mrs Kim's building. Wesley turned to Angel before they left the car. "Would you like some time on your own?"

"What?" Angel seemed startled by the question. "No. I want to... I mean, unless you...?"

"I want to be with you, Angel." Wesley got out of the car and waited for his partner to join him before locking the doors.

The door down to their apartment was a utilitarian metal one, much dented but still strong, dating from when the basement had been used as a chill storage area for a restaurant. After making sure Angel was still in the more alert state he'd settled into over the journey, Wesley opened the door, and they went down the stairs.

They'd only had the place for two weeks, but it was already starting to feel like home. To Wesley, anyway. He hung up his jacket and encouraged Angel out of his. "Can I warm you up some blood?"

Angel shook his head tersely, one quick motion. "Not now. Maybe later." He actually looked slightly paler than usual, making Wesley wonder if he felt ill. "I think I'm just gonna..." He gestured toward the bedroom with a glance that said 'you could join me, if you want to', and then disappeared into the dark room without turning on a light.

Wesley watched the bedroom doorway for a few moments, then followed.

He stepped into the room, pale light from the single bulb by the front door turning to near black as he crossed the threshold. But his eyes adjusted almost immediately, revealing the broad expanse of Angel's naked back as the other vampire pulled his shirt up over his head on the other side of the room. Angel looked over his shoulder at Wesley, then asked diffidently, "Come to bed?"

"Of course," Wesley agreed, starting to unbutton his shirt. It was obvious Angel didn't want to sleep, not so early in the night.

Angel finished undressing with an amount of self-consciousness that was unusual. Then he slipped between the sheets, lying on his side facing Wesley and watching him as he removed his own clothes.

With mild but growing concern, Wesley stripped quickly and slipped in beside Angel, facing him. The withdrawn mood Angel was in made the correct approach here a bit of a puzzle, although of course there was no point in asking Angel what he wanted; half the time he didn't even know and the rest he couldn't or wouldn't say.

Wesley didn't mind; he liked the mental -- and frequently physical -- exercise of finding out. Experimentally, he kissed Angel softly to see what response he would get.

Angel leant into the kiss, one hand sliding up Wesley's thigh to rest on his hip, then pull him closer. When their lips parted, he rolled over onto his back, cradling Wesley to his chest and nuzzling into his hair, holding him carefully, as if he were something to be protected. "Thanks," Angel said roughly. "For tonight."

"Anytime, my love." Wesley moved to lie over Angel properly, putting most of his weight on his knees and elbows, but still letting their bodies touch. He moved up to kiss Angel again.

"Mmm," Angel murmured. Then his arms tightened around Wesley almost painfully, and the kissing became more urgent, nearly desperate.

Happy to respond to the more intense mood, and feeling like he now understood what it was Angel wanted, Wesley threaded his fingers through Angel's hair. He forced their mouths even harder together, so that lips were torn on the hard edge of teeth and their blood mingled.

The sound Angel made at the taste of blood in his mouth was something close to a whimper instead of his more usual growl, but he didn't back off at all. If anything, he just held Wesley more tightly, kissed him with even more force, the evidence of his arousal obvious against Wesley's hipbone.

Unable to move much, Wesley did his best to grind their hips together as he continued the kiss. Angel was both needy and passive tonight, which meant it was up to Wesley to initiate things. But that was a little difficult when being held so tightly. Breaking the kiss reluctantly, Wes moved up, encouraging Angel to relax his arms.

But Angel didn't relax -- rather the opposite in fact, digging his fingers deep into the muscles of Wesley's biceps with bruising force. At the same time, he threw his head back, baring his throat to Wesley in a gesture that screamed surrender, belying the grip he had on Wesley's arms. He was a study in conflict, dominant and submissive in one.

As, Wesley supposed, was he. While never dominant in the way that seemed instinctive for Angel, Wesley's control need was strong, and since the return of his soul, he'd been struggling somewhat to find a balance between warring needs inside of him.

Control over the situation was important, but not vital. Control over himself was, he considered, essential. But the wildness of his vampiric nature urged him to give up that and all other forms of control; to act without concern or thought for consequence. To act without thought, full stop.

During sex, this conflict tended to become emphasised; it was unavoidable. And in truth, he didn't believe the situation was all that different for Angel.

Staring at Angel's throat, Wesley suddenly didn't want to move after all. He bent low, pressing soft lips to the side of Angel's neck, the touches so gentle he barely felt himself make them. He knew that Angel would feel them acutely all the same.

His proof came in the form of Angel's soft groan and the way the body beneath his arched upward into his own. "Do it," Angel said, voice ragged with need. "Please. Wes, please."

Wesley shivered, wanting so badly to oblige, and yet... "Let go of my arms, Angel." There was only the briefest of hesitations, then Angel released him, the gesture speaking of trust more clearly than any words could have. After a brief kiss as reward -- on the lips, as he didn't trust himself to remain too close to Angel's neck currently -- Wesley sat up astride Angel and reached to the bedside cabinet for the lube.

"Fuck," Angel muttered, as he rubbed his cock against the underside of Wesley's thigh, eyes closed, head still thrown back. "Christ. Need you. Wes..."

"Hush," Wesley soothed. After coating his hands with lube, he cradled Angel's cock, squeezing and rubbing over the head with his thumbs. "I'm here."

Angel shuddered and gasped. "Please..."

Moving up the bed slightly, Wes arranged himself above Angel's cock. No more lubrication was necessary. Tears healed quickly and felt... disturbingly good. Catching Angel's gaze, he then sat himself carefully down, groaning as he felt himself stretch around the thick shaft.

One of Angel's hands gripped onto Wesley's hip, his body arching again, the line of his throat tantalising. "God," he choked out. "Wes. Please..."

"Fuck me," Wesley bargained, smiling in a way he thought might be a little evil. "And I'll bite you."

Angel's body curled and then arched again in a stuttered, uncoordinated thrust up that forced matching groans from them both. "Yes," Angel hissed, managing a second thrust just the tiniest bit smoother than the first, going deeper this time.

"Ah!" The sensations seemed to push up inside of Wes, and he cracked into game face with Angel's next thrust, almost like the fangs and ridges were shoved forcibly out from inside him. Bending forward, he kissed Angel, letting his sharpened teeth tear into his lover's lips.

Angel had both hands on Wes' hips now as he fucked him harder, a growl escaping against Wesley's mouth as they both tasted the blood. "Do it now," Angel said warningly, his tone making it clear that if Wesley didn't he might lose his chance, the power struggle that was second nature forcing Angel to take control. Angel leaned his head back again, tongue swiping out over his torn lower lip and smearing more blood there.

Growling himself, not at all willing to give up what he'd been promised, Wes put a hand to Angel's forehead, holding him down. He knew somewhere in his logical mind that he couldn't ever hold Angel down if Angel didn't want to be held. But logic had absolutely nothing to do with this.

With the lion-like snarl of what he now was, he opened his mouth wide and descended on Angel's neck, sinking his fangs in deep.

Angel bucked violently underneath him, but Wesley's attention was on the flavour of the rich tangy blood that threatened to overwhelm his senses. He only dimly heard Angel's pained cry, only dimly felt the final slam of hips as Angel came, body wracking with spasms, the sound that had forced its way out of him ending in something close to a sob.

Wesley kept sucking, worrying at Angel's flesh to keep the sluggish flow going.

Angel groaned, flexing his fingers and reminding Wesley that he was being held. He'd have finger-shaped bruises for a few hours at least, he imagined, not that he cared in the slightest. "Enough," Angel said gently.

Wesley snarled again, moving his other hand around the back of Angel's neck to hold him more firmly in place and drinking deep. He was in control and knew exactly how much he could take.

There was the sudden sensation of the world spinning as Angel rolled them over, then Wesley found himself trapped beneath the other vampire's larger frame, his fangs torn free from Angel's throat and one of Angel's forearms across his collarbone, pinning him. "Enough," Angel repeated, with more patience than Wesley would have anticipated.

The impulse was to fight, and it was very strong. How dare Angel deprive him this way? But Wesley very deliberately defied his instincts, his fangs bared in a grimace as he fought only for control over himself. He forced his face to change to human and then licked his lips. While it hadn't been enough for Wesley, if it felt like enough to Angel, Wesley should respect that, especially today.

Almost immediately, Angel leant down and kissed him, tongue flickering into Wesley's blood-slick mouth. Wesley let himself be kissed, still struggling too much with his urge to bite to really kiss back. He was becoming aware again of his other needs too; his cock was throbbing between their bodies.

Angel seemed to be aware of it as well, because he shifted his weight and reached down to take it in a loose fist, giving Wesley something to thrust into. "You wanna get off, Wes?"

Moaning slightly, Wesley struggled with more force to keep the demon inside him under control. What he wanted, what he *really* wanted, he wouldn't -- couldn't -- let himself have. Since the return of his soul, he rarely admitted to himself, let alone to Angel, quite how much he craved at times like these for Angel to play his dominant sire again.

It seemed obvious that encouraging the games they'd grown so fond of during his brief soulless stint would be highly unwise, having inevitable consequences stretching into their daily lives. More and more, he felt, the equality he had insisted upon would be eroded until, without either of them intending it, he would become a rightless creature, subordinate and subservient -- a slave.

For this reason and others, he hadn't given in to his craving, despite the need feeling so strong at times it made him quietly furious.

So he wouldn't ask for what he craved, either with words or with a deliberate act of aggression designed to bring the desired angry response from his sire. From *Angel*, he corrected himself. Instead, he pushed up into Angel's fist and said simply, "Please."

Angel shifted his weight again, pinning Wesley down with one hand on his shoulder, while the other stroked and twisted Wesley's cock. He leant in for another kiss, his still-bleeding lower lip painting across Wes' mouth.

This was dangerous. The twin stimulations of Angel's hand and his blood were heady and threatened to quickly overwhelm him. Groaning, Wesley moved restlessly below Angel, thrusting upwards and unable to resist sucking on his lover's lip.

Instead of pulling away, Angel let him do it, at the same time holding Wesley more firmly down against the mattress. When Wesley gasped as the hand around his cock gave a particularly forceful stroke, Angel took advantage of the moment to murmur, "S'okay. I've got you." A pause, then, "Not letting go."

When he said things like that, Wesley felt sure that somehow Angel understood exactly the conflicts inside of him. And really, Angel had to be the person most likely to be able to. But nonetheless, it touched Wesley deeply, and grateful, loving emotions surged. He could let himself go, give up the struggle for a few seconds at least, and Angel would stop him going too far.

It was so tempting.

Growling, Wesley grabbed Angel's head, trying to force it down while he lifted his own so that the kiss could resume.

"No," Angel said calmly, resisting the kiss and pinning Wesley's thigh to the bed with one knee. "Not like that."

Anger surged through him at Angel asserting control so blatantly, followed by an equal surge of desire for an even stronger show of dominance. Shaking his head violently, Wesley was more annoyed with himself than anything else. "Just do it," he said tightly. "Please. Don't draw it out."

To Wesley's surprise, and perhaps initial disappointment, Angel released him and slid down his body, wet mouth engulfing the head of his cock and sucking forcefully. The disappointment that he'd rather not have acknowledged at all vanished under the onslaught of sensation from Angel's mouth.

"God!" Wesley almost yelled, thrusting up instinctively. "Oh dear God..."

Angel gave a slight growl and took him in deeper, the vibration just adding to the experience, hands grabbing onto Wesley's arse and pulling him closer, leaving no illusion of who was in control of this situation.

And that was indeed a good thing, as Wesley was losing the ability to stop his body doing anything it wanted to do. He writhed under Angel's attentions, his hands clutching within his lover's hair, and tried to thrust, but Angel's fierce grip wouldn't let him. Snarling, he shifted back into game face, tipping his head back as his balls tightened, an unstoppable surge starting within him.

In a flash, as if Angel knew exactly what was happening, mouth was replaced with hand and a grip that squeezed and stroked, and then Angel's fangs were sinking into Wesley's sensitive inner thigh, just beside his balls.

Wonderful, terrible pain that made him cry out filled Wesley, then he was coming, so very hard. His whole body seemed wracked with uncontrollable spasms and thought-destroying pleasure. Angel's hand gentled, but his mouth continued to work at the wound he'd made, prolonging the orgasm and leaving Wesley limp and utterly sated by the time it was over.

Angel moved back up the bed and lay beside Wesley, who was still trembling slightly with aftershock. They lay on their backs and stared at the ceiling in silence, until it filtered through Wesley's orgasm-fogged brain that this meant there was something bothering Angel, who was normally at least vaguely affectionate after sex. Rolling to his side, he asked gently, "What's wrong?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Angel said, turning his head slightly to meet Wesley's eyes.

Confused, Wesley asked, "You think there's something wrong with *me*?" He ignored the slight cramp of fear inside him, which said that Angel was angry with him, that he'd transgressed somehow, as it was a residue from the sire-fledgling games, or from his childhood, and either way, had no place here.

"Isn't there?" Angel sighed, and seeming to sense Wesley's discomfort, rolled also onto his side so that they were facing each other. "It's like you're... fighting yourself. And don't get me wrong, I know what that's like. It just... doesn't seem healthy. You know?"

"Well, of course I'm fighting myself." Wasn't that obvious? Too bloody obvious to be mentioned? "What else would I do?"

Angel reached out and ran a fingertip across Wesley's chest. "Let go? Just... I don't mean all the time. But sometimes." He hesitated, his eyes down. "You could... trust me?"

Wesley looked at Angel unhappily. "Does it... disappoint you when I don't let go?"

"No," Angel said quickly.

Wesley's spirits plunged further as he could tell Angel was lying. "Love, I... I can't let it win."

Angel frowned, but wrapped an arm around Wesley's waist, pulling him into an embrace that was no doubt meant to be comforting. "What are you talking about?"

"This demon spirit that lives inside me now," Wesley tried to explain. "If I give in to it once, if I let it have its way with me, then how do I know I'll ever be able to control it again?"

"Because you're you," Angel answered immediately. "And because... fuck, Wes, it's not that simple. You can't think of it like that... it's part of you now. It's not some separate thing that you're keeping in a box, it's... you. Part of you. That you can use when you need to."

Ignoring the fact that, yet again, Angel's opinions about demons, souls and personalities seemed contradictory, Wesley said, "I don't want *it* to use *me*. Not after..."

Angel's voice was gentle. "After what?"

"After what I did to Lilah and Con--" He stopped, not wanting to say the name at this point. "What I did under the influence of Natural Born Killer. After what I nearly did to Fred under the influence of Billy Blim." And other things, almost more shameful, from his childhood -- weak, snivelling things done in pointless efforts to avoid his father's anger.

"You don't..." Angel didn't seem to know what to say. Finally, he suggested again, "You could trust me?"

Wesley heard, or imagined he heard, pain in Angel's voice, and he winced. Knowing it was impossible, knowing that he never could trust to *that* level, he nonetheless said, "I'll try." He was just going to have to learn increased levels of control so that he could fake surrender sufficiently to please Angel.

Angel kissed him, torn lip only giving off the faintest taint of blood now it had started to heal. "I just want you to be happy," he said softly.

Reaching out, Wesley held Angel's face, gently but firmly encouraging him to meet Wesley's gaze. "I have never been happier, my love. I *promise* you that."

Angel's dark eyes were like an open book to Wesley, his lover's small smile like a gift. Every smile from Angel felt like a reward; they were relatively rare and even the small ones, when they were genuine, had a strong effect on him.

Angel kissed him again before saying, "Love you. Not gonna stop."

Wesley beamed, feeling much better. "I'll don't anticipate stopping either. And with a bit of luck, if we can avoid axe and stake, sun and fire, we've got forever." He chuckled at his own words.

"Forever," Angel echoed, seeming to like the sound of it, and the small smile spread into a broad grin.

***

Early the next morning, an insistent knocking on their front door woke them up, the sharp metallic sound filling the apartment. It would have made them nervous if they hadn't already been used to Mrs Kim's heavy hands.

Angel pulled on his pants and made his way from the bedroom and up the stairs. Fortunately, there was an overhang above their door, which meant that even at this time of day, he could open it and avoid sunlight by keeping back in the shadows.

He unlocked, opened, and looked around. There was no sign of Mrs Kim, but a small package that had been left against the door now fell inside. Angel picked it up and turned it over in his hands. It was a padded envelope containing something small but bulky.

It was addressed personally to him.

 

THE END


End file.
